


Otherworld

by Albion19



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, F/M, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albion19/pseuds/Albion19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way back from her aunt's Wendy Darling meets an intriguing stranger one misty morning and her dreamy, naive world comes crashing down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Should be a few chapters, not many. Rating will rise.

Through the mist the bus trundles along the road, a rusty red bucket that gets swallowed by the purple and grey moors that stretch out on either side until they melt away into the dense fog. I love mornings like this, nothing seems quite real, as if the earth is dreaming and we’ve been ensnared in it until the sun remembers it’s cue and burns things back to reality.

However I am reminded of reality with every bone shuddering bounce of the vehicle. Like all country buses it has no traction but I only have to endure it twice a year while these unfortunates have to cope with it every day. But they’re made of sterner stuff than me, who sometimes feels light-headed with the clean air; too much of a city girl. Auntie M offered to have her chauffeur drive me back to the station but I like the bus, for all it’s rib rattling. It reminds me of being a child, off on some great adventure.

But my adventure is now over and it’s back to the humdrum ruins of London. I get up and collect my bags as the bus slows and then decides to stop with a screech. Managing not to fall on my face I thank the driver politely – the barest hint of a nod – and disembark. The air is crisp and still and, as the commotion of the bus fades away in the fog, bird song swells all around me. Still a proud Girl Guide at the age of nineteen I try to identify them as I take a seat at the tiny bus stop.

“Robin redbreast…good morning,” I say to myself – when utterly alone who can resist the freedom to talk to themselves? Not me. I whistle, an accurate simulation and to my delight the bird sings back. For the next minute or two I and this hidden song bird exchange pleasantries until quite suddenly the trilling is replaced with loud crowing. Not to be outdone I cup my hands over my mouth and crow back.

The crow laughs in return.

“Oh!” my surprise echoes through the air as someone materialises out of the mist and stands across the road from me. Now I am the first to admit that I am someone with a fanciful nature – inherited from my mother – but the first thing I consider is whether the young man has just popped out from under a hill. His features, just barely discernible, are strikingly puckish and this is only intensified as he grins.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. You sing well bird,” he answers and his voice is pleasant. He is not from these parts and I wonder if he comes from London like me.

“And your crowing is to be commended,” I answer, wondering fleetingly why I am engaging in such a conversation with a complete stranger. He stays on the other side of the road, the mist whirling around his trousers and touching the shoulders of his dark green coat. Maybe a river runs under the road and that is why he cannot cross…

“Could I trouble you for a moment?” he asks, wincing a little and the smile on my face falters. He is intriguing, this strange young man but a fist squeezes my chest, warning me to be careful. Maybe he sees the unease on my face because he begins to shake his head with a small smile and turn away but then I stand and hold up a hand. I don’t do so of my own volition, my body just does it.

“What's wrong?” I am not in the city and the paranoia of the metropolis has no place here. He stands in place, smiling at me, hands in his pockets and I make my way over the narrow road to him. Closer his features become clearer; he is my age, give or take, and incredibly handsome in a fey sort of way. Not like a harmless, child-like pixie but something wild and almost cruel. His bright green eyes dance with some indefinable excitement. The morning already feels otherworldly and he is just a visitor from there and I wonder what he wants. If he could read my thoughts he would run a thousand miles the other way, I am sure. But I can not help it, I am a storyteller.

“Oh I just need your assistance, it shouldn’t take long,” he says and removes his hand from a pocket and motions down the road, back where the bus has been. I thought I had spied a car parked in the mist but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe he has broken down.

“Is it your car? I’m not an expert but I know a sight more than my brothers,” I say with a small vindictive thrill and walk ahead. I get maybe two or three steps when I feel him at my back and the sudden proximity makes me gasp. That is when he puts the pad of chloroform over my mouth.

The attack is so swift, so non violent that I do not struggle. Confusion, shock and the pinpricks of panic sweep over my body as the awful fumes invades my mouth and nose. I try to stop breathing but it’s too late. Fog enters my mind, like the fog around us but it’s not dreamlike at all, it’s a nightmare and this demon has just stepped out of it. I feel his arm circle me as I lose control over my body and then the fog obliterates everything, smothering and white.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake in darkness and two things immediately impress on me: my head is thumping and I feel incredibly sick. The pain, the discomfort and lack of light cloud my mind but then everything seems to stop.

_The boy._

I can see him in my head, a green grinning figure in the fog. I walked towards him, I walked in front of him,  _I turned my back_ , and then –

I can’t breathe. My chest feels tight, my heart is trying to suddenly burst free, nausea swells up and my head spins. Groaning, I press my face into the rough material against my cheek and try not to vomit.

“Just breathe,” a soft voice says, low but close and I freeze. It’s him, it’s him.

_No, this isn’t happening. This is a dream. I’m asleep at that bus stop. This is a nightmare and he’s not real. This is not real…_

I look and he is crouched down next to me, looking mildly concerned. Now that I see him I can’t look away. Half of his face is in shadow but I can see his features. Straight eyebrows that sweep up at the ends, like bird wings, sit above green eyes that seem to glow in the dim light, like he is some nocturnal creature. His lips are quirked, as if he’s trying not to smile but I can see a strange giddiness in his gleaming eyes. His scent engulfs me, something earthy, musky like after it rains and it’s the smell of him that sends my pulse racing. He is flesh and blood and he has taken me.  _Kidnapped me._

Spikes of fear shoot through my limbs and curdle in my belly and I want to be sick, that awful stuff he forced over my face still in my system. Panic claws at my throat but almost overpowering that is confusion.

“Wh – why?” I can hardly speak, tongue heavy and slow.

He tilts his head, that half smile curling into one that lifts up one side of his face. It’s cocky, smug and very self-assured. An arrow of intense irritation shoots through me at the sight of his smirking, handsome face. It clears my head.

“Why? That’s a good question bird but I’m afraid it’s not one I can answer right now,” he stands slowly, staring down at me and I lean back. “Wait until the stuff wears off, until your head clears. Sleep it off and I’ll explain everything after.”

I reach out a hand. I don’t know what I expected to happen; to catch him? Hit him? But as I do something clatters and my arm is suddenly jerked back. He has chained my wrist to the bed I am lying on. He smiles gently down at me.

“So you don’t fly away.”

* * *

 

I think I’m in an attic. At first I thought it was pitch but as my eyes becomes accustomed to the dark I can see pale shafts of light coming through slots in the walls. Am I in a barn? A shed? The ceiling is arched and I can hear doves cooing above.

He has chained me to the camp bed, wrist manacled and it’s quite loose but I can’t get the metal cuff over my hand. Not without skinning myself and I’m not that desperate, not yet. Nothing seems real, my head is full of fog and I know I’m not dreaming, I know it but I can’t believe this is happening. Panic sits rolled up at the pit of my stomach and I can feel it uncoiling and rising like a snake and it petrifies me. It’s the kind of fear that spreads thorough your veins, ossifying and cold until you can’t move, can’t run. It’s primal and at this moment I feel like some small creature shocked still by a predator. I am frozen with fear but hyper alert.

I listen for him constantly. Every noise makes my heart race and my muscles seize until they ache with the strain. My stomach churns (I had almost been sick earlier, dry heaving with panic. He has left me a bucket. How thoughtful he is.) Now I just want him to come, to dissipate the tension but he leaves me for hours. Leaving me to stew? My stomach rumbles and my throat is dry and soon those creaks and groans that made me jump now turn into something hopeful.

 _If you come have water, please_. I can hear something now, a quiet distant roar. The sea. Where the hell am I? I do not have to wait much longer.

He unlocks the door quickly and steps in. I did not hear him approaching. His dark green coat is off. He wears a white shirt, braces swinging down from his hips. I sit on the end of the bed, hands griping the mattress and watch as he approaches. He  _swaggers_. I detest him more every time I see him.

“Feeling better?” he asks in a pleasant tone. As if I had a cold and not because he had drugged me.

“Who are you? What do you want?” My voice is steady, though rough, but I’m shaking. He smiles thoughtfully, those gimlet eyes shining. He’s some infernal creature, he’s something else.

“…You can call me Pan.”

“Pan? Like the  _goat_  god?” I want to mock him, it’s on the tip of my tongue to call him billy goat gruff, frying pan, pancakes and all manner of ridiculous things but I stop. His eyes flash, not with anger but with something almost titillated. I clamp my teeth shut.

“Pan like  _Pan_. Now bird -”

“My name is Miss Darling and you will address me as such,” I interrupt, the words bursting free. He will use my name, not that fluttering endearment. Again his eyes flash and his lip curls, with surprise this time, as if he is not used to being questioned.

“Very well  _Darling_. You’re here because you have to be, you’re vital.”

“Vital? To what?”

“My plan,” he says and then moves back into the shadows. He comes forward again dragging a chair and places it right next to me. I scrabble up the bed until my back hits the wall. Through the slots in the wood a cold breeze blows against the back of my neck and I can hear waves crashing distantly. He has obviously moved me some distance but where? And why? I stare at him, the quiet but latent fear flooding through me. Is he deviant? Does he want to hurt me? Is it something sexual? The thought makes me feel sick and panic rises to my throat. I force myself to speak.

“Wh - where am I?”

He pauses before he takes a seat, eyes calculating before he flicks a playful grin at me. “Nowhere.”

Through the fear I feel another flicker of dislike. I really cannot stand arrogance and it clearly rolls off him in waves. His nonsensical answer ignites something in me and I start shouting before I can stop myself.

“WHERE AM I? WHAT DO YOU WANT YOU BASTARD?”

He laughs. He laughs at me and gasps in shock. “Now, now, no need for that,” his face is burning with mischief. “Have a guess, lets make a game of it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh Darling!” he cries in a tone of rapture. He really does seem to look aroused every time I get angry.

 _Stay calm, do not get a rise out of him._ The voice sounds like my mother and it makes me feel strong but also like someone is stabbing my heart. My brothers must know something is wrong by now, they will be waiting at the station. How long have I been gone? I focus back on Pan, staring at him steadily but trying to keep my gaze impassive.

“I won’t play any games. Why am I here?”

“You’re no fun,” he almost pouts, like a little boy, but then becomes serious. He turns his head and looks at the back of the room, lost in thought. “I need you,” he says quietly and it almost sounds wistful. My stomach tightens.

“For – for what?” the words get stuck in my throat.

“I need to exchange you for someone. My right hand man, my captain…my  _friend_ , is due to hang very shortly and I’m not going to let that happen,” he finishes in a growl, his eyes dark, and all previous bravado vanishes like it had never been. I lick my lips and his eyes flick down at the movement.

“You want to exchange his freedom for mine?”

“I’d trade your life for his,” he says in a completely flat tone and blood roars in my ears. “It’s quite simple really; if he is released you also walk free. If he doesn’t…” his eyes gleam with a promise of violence.

“Why…why?” it’s all I can say, the only thing that can get through my stiff lips. My veins are ice, my head is burning. He begins to smile slowly.

“Why you? Because once your father learns of your fate he will have no choice but to follow my demands.”

“My – father?” George Darling flashes into my mind, in all his uptight cardigan wearing glory and if I wasn’t so scared I would laugh. “What use can he be to you? He’s a banker…”

“Is he?” he replies in mock surprise but he smirks, like he knows something I don’t. I narrow my eyes at him. I thought of him as something infernal but in truth he’s far more insidious and mundane; he’s a criminal. It takes the strange glamour off him a little but only a little.

“Is this about money? Is this a ransom?”

“I have no use of money. The only ransom here is your life,” he says flatly but then quickly grins. “Are you thirsty?”

“What?” I feel weak. He’s so mercurial it makes my head spin.

“Water? Food? You must be hungry.”

He stands, pushing the chair back so I can’t reach it and places his hands on his hips. It’s a self-assured stance, legs spread. He’s in charge and I’m chained up and cowering on a musty old bed. I want to lift my chin in defiance, I want to scream and kick at him but this is no game. He has my life in his hands. Everything else but this nightmare makes no sense but that is the hard truth, the only truth that matters.

“I’m not hungry,” it’s true, my appetite has gone. He shrugs.

“Fine. I suppose looking a little harried will make for a better picture.”

“Picture?”

“Yes, the one I’m going to send to your father, along with a letter explaining the circumstances. Don’t worry Darling, if he loves you you’ll be free of this place in a few days and all of this will be a dream.”

He walks away and I speak before thinking. “Is this really happening?” maybe there is something in the shake of my voice because when he turns he looks almost pitying. Maybe it’s just the light.

“Yes, for now. Sleep, Darling, I’ll be back shortly.”

He closes the door and locks it and the sound is deafening.


	3. Chapter 3

The chain clinks as I draw it back and forth along the rail as Pan walks through the door and this time he is accompanied by someone else. It is a man, though young like Pan, and he carries a camera and light. He is dark haired and athletic looking and when he quietly asks Pan something his accent is American.  He does not look at me. I am hungry, I feel like my throat is the roughest of sand paper and I’m teetering on the edge of mad boredom. But the sight of him still sends a spike of fear through me and it is exhausting. My nerves are so frayed they’re practically falling to bits around my feet.

“Good evening Darling, still on hunger strike?” he asks with a smirk and I say nothing. He had come in earlier with a tray but I ignored him. I will not eat until he removes the cuff. However when he comes forward and rests a cup of water on the floor my resolve crumples like soggy paper. I am prideful, I know I am but it is not as strong as my desire to live. I snatch the cup up and force myself to sip. I’m so thirsty I could lick the entire cup for drips. He watches me, that smirk still on his face, but his eyes are too watchful, too penetrating. He appears almost hypnotised.

“Who – who is that?” my thirst is slacked but my throat is still scratchy. Pan blinks and looks back at the other man who is fiddling with a studio light like he had forgotten he was there. Do I garner his attention so completely? Interesting…

“Oh this is Ruf, one of my boys,” he replies, waving a hand vaguely behind him.

“Your boys?” Dear god does he have a gang of degenerates following him? Is he their leader? I don’t know why I’m surprised, of course he would have followers, it must satisfy his ego.

“My cohorts,” he says and widens his eyes in mock scandalisation, as if he had read my thoughts. I purse my lips and fold my hands in my lap. The chain grows taut.

“You want to take my picture?”

“Yes, holding this letter up,” he flourishes a page at me and I reach for it and he draws it back, mischief lighting his eyes. He must be my age but he behaves like a naughty teenager. Is he insane? Either way he likes to tease me, this man who threatened my life not hours before. It’s as if he has forgotten.

“What does it say?”

“Just the predicaments of your circumstance,” he says and the giddiness becomes muted. He gives the letter to me and steps back.  I read it and it details everything he has already told me. I read it aloud anyway.

“To whom it may concern. As you have no doubt noticed by now your daughter -”

“You don’t have you read it, I wrote it,” he says smugly and lord give me strength I want to wrap my chain around his throat and choke him. He is insufferable. I glare at him and his eyes twinkle but then he grows serious when Ruf comes forward with the camera and brings it up to his face. I look down at the letter, which is my salvation and damnation and then up.

“I hope your friend is worth this.”

“He is,” Pan says in a completely sombre voice. He motions for Ruf to get started and moves back, arms crossed over his chest and watches as the first flash of the bulb dazzles my eyes. It is over quickly, though after a few reshoots because I was blinking or glaring at Pan. Ruf takes his equipment and leaves, leaving me and his leader alone.

“There, the ball is rolling now bird.”

I bristle at the word but say nothing. I am tired and my head is spinning, stars still exploding in my eyes. Pan moves up to me and before I can do anything he sits on the bed beside me. I have nowhere to go so I just freeze. He rests back against the wall with a sigh and turns his face to me. A few candles are burning and I imagine to an outsider it must look sparsely romantic. My stomach rolls.

“What time is it?” I ask, just to have something to say. I can’t look him in the eye. How pathetic, my father would not approve of such cowardliness.

“Late. You should sleep.”

“How do you expect me to sleep?”

“Badly I suppose…” he gazes at the side of my face and I still can’t look at him. I feel like he will do something to me if I do, something unearthly and I won’t be the same. I really must eat, my thoughts scurry like mice. I left the chain up and make myself stare at him.

“Take this off.”

“Is that an order?” he looks amused, those green eyes glowing. He really is strangely striking and it’s not fair that such a face is wasted on someone so undeserving. I wonder suddenly if he has a woman somewhere. He seems the type to have a string of them. I absentmindedly worry at the ring on my finger and he catches my hand suddenly. I stop breathing. He stares at the ring on my finger and then looks up at me, eyes flicking thoughtfully between mine. He looks mildly annoyed.

“W – what?” I stammer. My heart is hammering. His touch is electrifying.

“I didn’t notice this before,” he says and stares at the small diamond as if in blame.

“It – it’s just a ring.” What am I saying? It is more than that, more important than some trifle. “An engagement ring.” But should I even tell him? Too late now.

He looks up at me and I swear I see something like reproach in his gaze before he smiles and drops my hand. “I wasn’t informed of that,” he says and flicks an accusing look at the door. Has he been spying on me? Getting his boys to collect information on me? Well it’s not shocking they knew nothing about this.

“Well it’s not something that concerns you,” I answer and his eyes flash. He does not move but his body seems to strain towards me and I can’t breathe.

“Tell me,” he says in a low, smooth voice and it is persuasive and it must work on many. I say nothing but stare at him, a sudden thought in mind.

“Take this off and I will,” I lift the cuff again and his eyes flick down and back. His mouth curls.

“A deal?”

“If you like.”

He narrows his eyes in consideration and then quickly sweeps his gaze across the dark room. There is nowhere for me to run to and he knows it. He cocks a dexterous eyebrow.

“I can’t walk through walls or pick locks,” I say in exasperation and he looks back at me finally. His gaze is thoughtful and suddenly he pulls a chain from his neck and a tiny key swings in the candlelight.

“If you try anything stupid don’t forget we know where your family lives,” he threatens lightly, more concerned with leaning across me to get the key in the lock. My heart gallops at the threat and his proximity. His arm brushes against my chest and his hair tickles my throat and chin. I can’t lean back anymore and I am engulfed in his scent. I think he is doing this on purpose, he could get up to remove the cuff. Bastard.

Finally the manacle clicks free and I snatch my hand to my chest as he leans away from me. He puts the cuff and chain into his trouser pocket, lifting his hips off the bed but he does not get up. He stares at me expectantly. Of course. Shit. I wonder what he will do if I say nothing? He seems to be thinking this because he laughs, a puff of derision and I feel a flare of annoyance. But he has threatened my family and I would do _anything_ to ensure their safety.

“His name was – _is_ Bae. He – he is my fiancé and a soldier. He fought in the war…”

“And where is he now?”

“Missing in action,” I say, not looking at him. He shifts next to me.

“Dead then.”

“Missing,” the word hisses through my teeth and I turn to his smirking face. He lifts his eyebrows, as if I am some mad, deluded figure and I lift my hand to slap him but it hovers in the air. Again his eyes seem to combust with arousal and I cannot look away or ignore it.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m not the one wearing the ring on the wrong finger,” he whispers into my ear and I shudder as he finally gets up. I look down and see that he is right, it’s not even on the proper hand. He stares at me as my cheeks burn in mortification.

“Leave me alone,” I mutter and he rocks on his feet.

“I hope your father comes through Wendy because I like you,” he says and I actually think he means it. I stare up at him under hooded lids.

“The feeling is not mutual,” I say flatly and he grins. He cocks his head back towards the door and it’s then I notice something sitting by the wall. My bags! I thought they were still at the bus stop, waiting for me to collect them like a pair of poor neglected children.

“You can change for bed,” he says and I get unsteadily to my feet. He moves to help but I shoo him away and he steps back, still smiling. I feel like a lamb as I move towards the bags and I know I have no chance of making a run for it tonight. I need food and rest. Pan moves to the door and with a look he tells me to move back to the bed. I don’t want to but I do. Once sat he opens the door but pauses before leaving.

“No harm will come to you while you’re here. No one will touch you but me,” he does not say it but I know what he is referring to. However it is just words, I can see his desire every time he looks at me. I just pray that he will not do anything and that my father will act swiftly and I can go home.

“I’ll have that sandwich now,” I say and he smiles at me and it is not a smirk or something mocking. It is genuine and I inspect it like a photograph of someone you think you recognise when he is gone. 


	4. Chapter 4

It has been two days since the bus stop. I  _think_  it has been anyway, Pan is not forthcoming with the details. I think he likes to keep me in a state of confusion but he does like a guessing game. I don’t want to play along but it seems to please him so I do. I want to live, I want to be free and see my family again and I will do anything to make sure that happens.

“The letter should reach him in a few days,” he says as he pours tea into my cup. He has been making my breakfast, lunch and dinner and always watches me eat expectantly. I could spit it out, tell him it’s revolting but it’s not. It would be foolish to anger him but there is this rebelling force in me that wants to deny him at every turn. I think he likes that, for some reason.

“A few days? Why the wait?” The Royal Mail doesn’t take that long to deliver a letter, not if we’re on the mainland. He narrows his eyes at me over the rim of his teacup – army issue, unbreakable – and his eyes gleam with a hidden smile.

“Are you trying to suss information out of me Darling?” my surname out of his mouth sounds more and more like a caress.

“Of course not.”

“That would be stupid.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being stupid,” I don’t want to see his smile as genuinely friendly but I can’t ignore it. I have a fresh blouse and a skirt on – both in shades of forest green, subconscious decision - thanks to my rescued luggage but I’m itching for a bath.  Will I have to play for a simple jug of water and a cloth? He has unchained me so he is not unreasonable.

“Only a few more days,” he sighs and sounds reluctant. I stare at him, at his half smirking face and impish eyes and wonder what he is thinking, what he thinks about me specifically? It is what my mind ruminates on when I try to sleep. Does my life mean anything to him? Can I bargain for it in some way? There must be a way to play him and get myself out of here. I can’t rely on a letter that may or may not reach my father and even if it did what can he possibly do? All of this is nonsensical.

“Tell me about your friend.”

The question startles him and he straightens on the bed. I move around the room, I try not to get too close to him, which I think he does not appreciate. His proximity does something to me, like a radio that combusts into static when it loses frequency. I want to be firing on all stations, I want to be ready. The chair he had sat on is gone, possibly fearing I’d use it as a weapon. I would have and I curse the loss of it. I will have to find other ways to fight.

“Felix? Nothing,” he shrugs and I stop pacing and turn to him.

“My life hangs in the balance because of this gentleman. I think I deserve some information about him. Tell me.”

“I don’t respond to demands,” he says flatly, strange burning eyes on me. His elbows rests on his knees and his fingers are laced together. He looks calm, in control but his jaw is clenched and his nostrils flare. He does not like to show tender emotions. If he has them, if that is what this is. I hope it is, I hope he has something like a heart.

“Not a demand, a request,” I move closer to him and he leans forward with a small smile.

“What will I get in return?”

“What do you want?” it is a dangerous thing to say and I wish I could drag the question back. A slow curling smile grows on his face and makes my stomach tighten.

“Hmm, let me think on it…however knowing about Felix changes nothing for you. Be smart,” he urges and I want to smack him. He can sound so conceited but he is trying to help me when he doesn’t have to.

“If you insist…in exchange for whatever  _you_  want I want a bath and,” I hesitate but there’s no point being squeamish about it, “a proper loo, no more pots.” Ruf collects them from under my bed when I sleep and it’s particularly humiliating but at least I’m asleep when it happens. Pan regards me thoughtfully, tilting his head until he cocks an eyebrow (they truly have a mind of their own.)

“Very well but you will have to follow my rules exactly, is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” I smile but it feels like a sneer. It probably is. He smirks and stands and I take a step back. He pauses and sighs.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says but there is something mock gentle in his voice, like he has no idea how to be genuinely comforting. He sounds like he’s talking to a child who doesn’t know any better.

“You already have. You’re doing it every second I’m here,” my voice is low and shakes with feeling but rage bursts through me when he rolls his eyes.

“You’re fine, there’s not a scratch on you and you’re not quivering in a corner. You know I’ve had men three time older than you, strong, respected men begging for their lives and weeping? Not you. You’re worth twenty of them.”

That is not what I expected him to say. He’s impressed? How can I respond to that? Thank him? Not a chance in hell. I move closer to him, eyes on his and my heart beats so hard it hurts.

“Let me go.”

“There you go with your demands again,” he smirks in bemusement.

“This is insane! What can my father do to help your friend? He’s a clerk in a bank! That’s it! Unless…” I freeze, mind going blank and white for a moment but pulsing with a single thought, with a  _name_.

“Unless what?” he looks guarded, watchful.

“Unless this has something to do with his connections? He – he has made some acquaintances over the years, people who have more clout than he does.”

“Like who?” he asks in a teasing way, now enjoying the game.

“Like Lieutenant Jones, he’s a policeman,” and ex-navy, that’s how he knows my father, they fought together years ago. They’ve not as close as they had once been, operating in different circles, but I know they see each other at their club and at parties. This must be it, he’s using my father to get to Jones.

“That’s right he is,” he says, a non-answer and I want to strangle him. Pan moves a little closer but I don’t want to give him anymore ground. I don’t want to fear him, I want to flush it out of me and just be left with this anger but it’s easier said than done.

“You want Jones to give the go ahead, to grant Felix’s release. So you use one of his oldest friends to get to him. He has no family so you target his friends…” it’s devious and brilliant. Again I can’t help think what a waste Pan is, he could be so much more but he uses his obvious intelligence and charisma for foul deeds.

“You’re very clever,” he says in appreciation and there is no mocking tone to it. “Imaginative…”

“I write so…” why tell him this?

“A storyteller!” his eyes sparkle in childish glee. He is so strange.

“That is beside the point. What makes you think this will work? He’s not beyond the law. If your friend is meant to hang -” I gasp as he suddenly pushes his face into mine and glares.

“ _He is not meant to hang! He shouldn’t even be in there!”_  he hisses and I can smell – almost taste – chocolate on his breath. I lick my lips, unable to stop. I haven’t had chocolate in years. He looks at my mouth and up again and I stop breathing. He looks like he wants to either kiss me or kill me. Luckily he does neither. He gives me a horrible grin and then moves back towards the door. He knocks – it only opens from the outside – and the door is opened a few seconds later.

“Wait!” I say before I can stop myself and he turns. “You didn’t tell me what you wanted in return.”

Pan smiles and cocks his head. “For you to call me by my name. It’s Peter, Peter Pan.”

With that he leaves, locking to door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Can I burn some of the wooden planks, enough to make a hole without setting the whole room on fire? If they smell smoke, if I let it get that far, will they drag me out? Will I even be able to run?

Silly questions but they plague me at night. I move my fingers lazily over a lit candle, the end of it stuck onto a tea saucer. Others dot the room but not enough to banish the shadows. Warm light bathes the walls, making the wooden planks stand out in stripes of black lines as they jut out from the wall. I can hear the sea. It’s calm tonight.

I could play dead? Make him take me out of here and run? I am good at pretence, at role playing; I always have been but the idea of doing it makes my stomach turn over. He will learn of my deceit and probably be angry. Or deeply amused, who knows with Pan.

_Peter._

I have always liked that name and it fits him but I still can’t think of him as anything but Pan. I do not know Peter, whoever he may be. Peter is an anomaly, a stranger to me but Pan is the real thing. He is the one who appears in fogs and kidnaps women, who blackmails and bargains lives as if they were nothing. That is who I have been dealing with but maybe this other person, this Peter, is who I have to face. I think he is the one who looks at me with a kiss on his mouth.

I wish I had something to write on, these thoughts won’t stop coming. I’m going stir crazy. So when the lock clicks I feel an intense burst of excitement mixed with fear. Pan comes in carrying a record player and sets it down on the floor. Under his arm are vinyl’s in paper wallets. He stops when he sees that I am awake and he looks like a little boy caught in the act. I can see what he intends, for me to wake to the surprise and a traitorous warmth of gratitude flares inside.

 _Don’t be such a sap. He’s a bastard who would see me dead given half the chance._ But the hot feeling in my stomach remains as I sit up in bed and draw my knees up to my chest. He stands and gazes at me with a soft smile. He looks tired.

“I thought you would be asleep.”

“No.”

“Come and see,” he says and holds out a hand and I hesitate before throwing the covers back and moving to him on bare feet. I am dressed in a long, white nightgown and his gaze travels from my toes to the top of my head and the candle light flickers in his eyes. I’m thankful, I don’t want to know what he may be feeling at the sight.

“Music?”

“Something to pass the time with,” he says lightly and watches my face for a reaction. I stare at him quizzically.

“How long to do you expect me to stay here?”

He shrugs and bends down to slot a record in place. It must be battery powered and soon the slow, warbling music of Glenn Miller fills the room. It is so strange, so wonderful that I feel like crying, as histrionic as that sounds. To live without music is to go without air. I get it from my mother I think, who is a brilliant piano player (and I’m not too shabby myself.)

However if he asks me to dance I will laugh in his face, I don’t care what he will do to me. He seems to know this and so leans back against the wall and watches me. I want to move, to sway and the bottom of my nightie swishes from side to side. I can’t help myself and he smiles at me. He is very handsome, I know it and he knows it but again it lends him a sombre air. He is wasted, a criminal, a degenerate but one who does strange things like this. What is his game? I stop moving and cock my head at him.

“Why are you doing this? You threatened to kill me,” my voice is steady but my skin flushes when he leans off the wall slowly.

“Maybe I’m reconsidering. I know Felix will be released, there’s no way he won’t be but maybe…” he trails off and gazes at me deeply.

“Maybe what?” my heart is thumping and that old familiar roar is in my ears again.

“Maybe I don’t have to give you back.”

He leans closer, his eyes on my lips and I cannot move, cannot breathe. His presence has encased me, as if trapped in amber and there is nothing but him and my pounding heart. His lips hover above the corner of my mouth and then away, as if he is not sure where he want to kiss me first. He looks into my eyes and dips his head down again, his breath playing over my lips when the door is flung open suddenly.

I jump back from him like he is burning and turn wildly to Ruf. He is panting, his face white and I know in seconds that something is very wrong. All softness from Pan is instantly gone and he rounds on Ruf in a fury but his lackey holds up a crumpled newspaper. It stops Pan in his tracks and the blood drains from his face.

Felix has been hanged.


	5. Chapter 5

They are shocked into stillness. Pan stares at the paper being offered to him like Ruf is handing him something revolting and his absolute furious denial paralyses him. I think Ruf is just scared and eyes Pan like he’s standing before an angry tiger.

_He’s dead! They’ll kill me!_

Pure, unfiltered terror floods through me and suddenly all my senses are buzzing and strained to the point of being superhuman. I can smell, taste and hear things in a way that I never have before and I notice quite suddenly that the door Ruf burst through is standing open.

I do not think, I just run.

Though my senses feel heightened I do not see the staircase I descend, just the feel of wood underfoot and then the shock of the cold as my bare feet touch concrete. It’s a garage and I barely take in the hulking dark shape that sits under a sheet –a boat? Before I run for the door and burst out into the night.

Freedom. There is nothing like it in the world. It is like breathing for the first time, seeing and hearing. It’s like being born again. However it is pitch black, the kind of darkness that had scared me so deeply once but now I run into it with a fierce devotion. I run hard, knees up high and arms to my sides, like Mr Jones had taught me one summer, and flee like the wind. I don’t know where I’m running to, or even what might be in the dark but I don’t stop and I don’t look back.

The way is lit suddenly by moonlight and I look up to see scuds of cloud drifting clear. City dwellers do not know true darkness and probably never will but right now I thank my stars at how truly bright the moon is. But my appreciation is short lived. I can hear a crash behind me, men swearing and I know that they’re not far behind. In my white night gown and blonde hair I must be glaringly obvious to them now, like a ghost in the night.

Moorland stretches darkly all around but only illuminated by patches of moonlight. Beyond that I have no idea where I am but I keep running for my life. I almost smack into a tree and probably would have knocked myself out but I trip before I reach the trunk. The ground is uneven and filled with unseen pitfalls and my foot gets caught in one and I sprawl out onto the ground, skinning myself in many places but the pain is just a faint concern.

 _Get up! Get up!_  I scream inside my head but I can’t move, the wind knocked out of my lungs.  _He’s going to find me and he’s going to kill me! GET UP!_

I hear a noise behind me, the panting of breath or the moaning of the wind through the tress I don’t know, but it is enough to get me back on my feet and running. I’ve twisted my ankle and it slows me down but I know I’m not really feeling the pain as it really is. All I can feel is my drumming heart, lungs and legs. I am just a body now, a vehicle filled with terror and adrenaline and a fierce will to live.

_Did Bae feel this? Did he fight? Did he run for his life?_

The thought is startling and once gave me so much pain but now it gives me strength and I don’t understand why. It just does. I avoid the trees, too dark to navigate in, but instead run towards the sound of the sea. Maybe I can follow the coast to some safe place, even find a cave to hide in. I can hear its distant roar that mingles with the sound of blood rushing in my ears until there is no way to distinguish between them. It almost costs me my life.

I run up an incline, lungs burning and legs aching, and gasp as the land suddenly flattens and the vast, cold stretch of the North Sea is visible. The sudden appearance of the cliff is so unexpected that I don’t have time to stop. I slip over the edge and slide down a few good feet before I grab onto a rock and stop. I cling on, my entire body shaking with the effort to hold on. The drop is many feet below and I can see waves bubbling up over rocks. If I let go I won’t fall into the sea but against stone. I’ll die or be as good as.

“Hey!” a voice barks out above me suddenly and I gasp. Ruf is looking down at me and as I watch he flattens and holds out a hand. I look back down and then out to sea. I don’t know where I am, I don’t even know if I’m still in Yorkshire or not. I could swim, if I’m lucky, but to where? There is no other way. I look back up and with a yell I grab for his wrist and he drags me back up.

“Please,” I mumble, my body shaking uncontrollably as I get to my feet and grip his shoulder to stay upright. He has a hand wrapped around my wrist, like another manacle. “Please, let me go.” Pan is not here, I still have a chance. “He…he won’t have to know.”

“Are you joking?” he laughs and pulls me away from the edge. “Where do you think you’d run to? You’re on an island, there’s nowhere  _to_  run!”

_An island? No!_

“But he’ll kill me!”

“Not my concern,” he says and shrugs and I think he truly does not care. He yanks me forwards but I rip my arm away. I’ll take the sea, I’ll take the rocks but he frowns and grabs at me and we struggle. I lose my head at the prospect of going back to that room and what will await me there. I fight for my life. I scream at him, scratch and hit and he seems shocked at the violence until he grabs my hair and pulls me to him but I tug him around, get tangled in his legs and push him away from me with all my might.

I did not see, I swear I did not see.

He leans back and throws out his arms and for a moment his face is illuminated by moonlight. His mouth is a dark circle of surprise and his eyes widen so that they ring with white. I will never forget that face, I will have nightmares about it till the day I die. He inhales once, to scream maybe, before he falls over the cliff edge, propelled by my push. I try to stop it, I reach for him and almost go over but something stops me.

“No!” the scream is torn from my throat as he is dashed on the rocks below and I can’t look away. I lean over the edge, straining forward and in that moment I want to fall but the arm around my waist stops me and I’m pulled back against a chest.

“Don’t look,” Peter says hoarsely and pulls me into his arms. All the fight, all the fear and determination to escape fades away and I can only stare into space, my mind vacant but for one terrible truth: I have killed someone.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yes…”

I have to apologise, I have to make him understand that and so I tell him over and over again. He looks up at me from his knees and stares at me. His face is very pale but for two spots of colour on his cheeks and his eyes gleam so bright, so strange as he gives me a thin lipped smile and takes my shaking hands. He turns them palm upwards and we look at the scratches on my skin, at the blood and bits of debris embedded in my skin. I don’t feel anything.

_There was blood on the rocks, black blood in the dark. Maybe it was just his hair?_

“Will he be all right?”

“Wendy…” he says in a low tone and looks away as I start to cry. It’s like there is a sea inside my chest that wants to get out through my eyes and mouth. I flounder with it.

“He’s d-dead, isn’t he? I killed him. Oh god…oh god!” I suck in air but there isn’t any and Peter pushes my head down towards my knees. My chest heaves and I stare at the faded mulberry carpet below my ruined feet and try to breathe. I don’t remember how we got here, I just remember his arms around me, his lips on my cheek and ear and then the low settee and the coffee table in front of me. It is someone’s living room.

The carpet is a tapestry and I follow the warp and weave of it with my eyes, become engrossed with it until the textures and patterns blur into one. He pushes me back up and lifts a hand to push my hair off my face. My body shakes every few seconds, completely rattling with tremors and my jaw feels stiff and tight as my teeth start to clatter.

“You’re in shock,” he says and reaches behind me and throws a blanket around my shoulders. It smells of old women and moth balls, if there is a difference. Something in me is bleeding out and what was once there is being replaced with something else, something dark and mad. I can feel panic circling around my throat and I lean forward and grip one of his braces as he starts to get to his feet.

“Are you going to kill me?”

He rises the rest of the way up slowly and never takes his eyes off mine. He tilts his head and then reaches down to touch my cheek. His touch stings me, he must be touching a cut on my face. He looks tender as I wince.

“No.”

That is all he says as he moves back and I let go of him. He disappears and I look around the room. It is sparse; a few armchairs, bookshelves and seascape pictures but in a corner a large spinning wheel sits. Next to it is a Bakelite radio. I stare at everything, transfixed with the smallest detail. Anything to stop myself thinking about it but I can’t. I see him broken against the rocks, I see his surprised face when I close my eyes.

“I killed him.”

“No you didn’t.”

His voice makes me jump and I look up to see him on his knees beside me again. On the coffee table in a bowl of a water, a cloth and some antiseptic cream. I shake my head slowly, hot tears welling up and spilling down my face. I can taste salt in my mouth, like the sea.

“I did! I pushed him! I killed him!”

“Shhh…” he says through his teeth, almost an irritated hiss, and I press my lips together. He starts with my feet. He dips the cloth into the water and then lifts my foot with his hand. Like everywhere else my skin is bloody and bruised but my feet are absolutely filthy. He cleans the mud and blood away with gentle, slow wipes and I fist the seat under me as small arrows of pain shot through me. I watch him in the same state of fascination I watched everything else in the room but he is the only thing that can capture my mind completely and for the next few minutes my head is clear of death.

I sit still and hiss only a little when he applies the cream to the cuts on my feet, calves and knees. He has to roll my nightdress up and only looks at me once for assent. I say nothing, I can’t even move my head to nod as the sheer agony of what I had pushed my body through starts to pulse through me. My body aches with pain that I have never felt, permeating from my bones outwards. Every jolt pains me but he touches me with a gentleness I didn’t think he had. Not for me.

“Your hands,” he says and takes them in his. He turns them over and the engagement ring winks in the fire light. To think it had not slipped off after all that but as he turns my hand palm up I see that the band has warped, almost snapped, and it is digging into my finger. Pain is a funny thing, sometimes you can go long stretches of time without knowing that you’ve been hurt, not until you’re made aware of it. When I see the twisted ring my finger starts to throb. I take my hand out his and try to take the ring off but I can’t.

“It’s stuck,” I mutter through clenched teeth. I’m still shaking, still freezing and he takes my trembling hand back. What he does next stops the shaking, if only for how long it lasts. He lifts my hand to his face and then places the finger with the ring into his mouth. He tongues the band, tasting my blood and the dull gold, before he slowly draws my finger through his lips and sucks the ring off. I feel no pain, just the sensation of his tongue and the hot, wet pressure of him around my skin. I draw my hand back, now bare and he clutches the ring between his teeth before dropping it into the bowl of bloody water. It disappears into the murky depths.

“There, all gone,” he says and then rises on his knees and moves closer to me. He lifts the cloth to my face and rubs my scratched skin clean. I stare at him, his face so close and I wonder if all this is still some dream. It has to be, none of this can possibly be real. I have not and could not kill anyone.

“Are you real?”

He pauses, fingertips dabbing ointment onto my cheek and he stares into my eyes. I had forgotten about the reason all of this nightmare started: his friend Felix is dead. He smirks ever so slightly but the usual playfulness is gone. His bright green eyes are dark and they flash with tiny glimmers of pain but mostly he looks furious and trying to contain it.

“I’m real.”

“I don’t want it to be real,” I whisper and my tears run down his fingers.

“I know but it is…I’m sorry,” he adds haltingly, like the words are a foreign language and he looks down as if ashamed he had said it wrong. Suddenly the full weight of what had happened, the stark cruel reality of it crashes down on me and I sink back into the couch cushions.

I have killed someone, whether by accident or not it doesn’t matter. I have taken someone’s life and I cannot take it back. Through the pain a rising, consuming guilt starts to eat at me and I shake my head slowly. He must see the change in my expression because suddenly he leans forward until his face is inches away, bracing his hands on the seat either side of my hips.

“You’re not to blame for this,” he says sternly but I shake my head harder.

“I’m a killer.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” he says with his old arrogance but it only makes me feel hollow. I have no anger for him now, it is only reserved for myself.

“It’s true. He is dead because of me.”

“Did you intend for that?”

“No…” I say without thinking but then stop. I go over the struggle in my mind, though something in me fights to be reminded. I had my back to the sea, I was the one on the edge but I pulled him around and then pushed. I did not make a conscious decision but there must have been a part of me that knew what I was doing. I had wanted to live and I made sure that happened. I killed him.

“Well if you did or didn’t it makes no difference, he would have been a dead man by morning anyway,” he growls the words out, his burning breath playing over my face. I blink at him, not comprehending.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s the reason Felix died. I left it to him to find out when the date of execution was but he got it wrong. Or someone paid him off. My entire plan hinged on that date being right but the bloody letter was sent too late. They’re probably reading it now.”

His voice shakes with retrained fury, his shoulders hunching and it is almost exhilarating to be so close to someone who looks like they have a tornado inside them. I think he is focusing on the rage, on the disappointment rather than the grief and sorrow. Maybe I should do the same.

“He didn’t deserve to die.”

“Neither did Felix,” he grits out and his eyes glow horribly, like he is lit up within. “I would have killed Ruf come morning, you just got there before me.”

The first spikes of fury shot through me and I sit up but suddenly gasp at the stiffness of my limbs. I am in agony and I don’t think I can move again. The blazing look in his eyes mutes and he gazes at me with concern.

“You should sleep,” he says quietly and moves away from me. The loss of his proximity affects me deeply, in a way I never thought possible. I feel a raw, primal fear of being left alone in the dark and I reach for him. I do not fear him any longer, I think the fear has been transformed into something else.

“Don’t go, don’t leave me,” my voice shakes and I sound like a child. I feel so helpless, so boneless that he could do anything to me, lead me anywhere I would go without complaint. I just cannot bear the thought of being alone and he is all I have. He tilts his head at me in wonder and then smiles softly.

“Say my name.”

“Peter…Peter will you stay with me?”

He doesn’t respond but through the restrained turmoil inside him a glimmer of something light shines. He kicks off his boots as I lie down and I try to trap the yelps of pain as my back spasms but they burst out of me. I brace myself against the back of the settee as he lies down next to me, mind and body whirling with a confusing mix of fear and relief and close my eyes when I feel his warm, soft lips press against my forehead.

I fall asleep immediately, feeling like I have been branded for life.


	6. Chapter 6

“ _Cromarty, Forth, Tyne. North-westerly backing south westerly for a time…rain later, moderate or good…_ ”

The rhythmic, soothing sounds of the Shipping Forecast pull me up from sleep. It has been years since I heard it, they stopped broadcasting it during the war, but now it has started again. I used to sit with my father as a child and listen to the strange names and imagine that they were magical realms and not seas around Britain. I will never get to do that again, the whimsy that came to me so naturally has been spoiled…I force myself to focus on the facts. The forecast comes from a radio somewhere close by. The room is dark, the fire behind the grate dying embers and I shiver.

I am alone. The space next to me is empty and the seat cushion under my hand is cool. He must have woke some time ago. I don’t remember much from the night before, just fleeting images and feelings, but I remember distinctly his fingers dabbing at my skin, the feel of his mouth on my forehead and the heat of his body next to mine. The loss of him beside me feels strange, as if he was a barrier between me and the rest of the room, the rest of the night. I roll onto my back and my muscles seize, my body growing rigid with pain. I feel so stiff, so used, so tired and the discomfort is doubly unwelcome as it cuts through the numbness inside me.

Last night I had been clutching on with my fingertips, everything raw and agonising but now I feel hollow. Inside I’m like a large, echoing room but it is so vast that nothing can reach me, only faint impressions and whispers of emotions. His surprised face floats up into my mind and through the cotton-wool numbness a stab of guilt shoots through me.

_No, don’t think, don’t feel; just forget…_

I force his face away as I struggle to sit up, the flannel blanket falling around my waist. I look at my hands, arms and shoulders and see a collection of cuts, scratches and bruises and when I throw the blanket off my legs and feet are in a similar state. The bottom of my nightgown is muddy and grass stained and I want to take it off but can’t.

_I must get myself together, I must get clean and tidy and then…what?_ It is a thought that leads nowhere because there is nowhere for me to go. I have no energy and I do not care. What does it matter how I look? The only thing that matters is that I have taken someone’s life and as a result my own is over.  I get to my feet, teeth clenching in effort, and move – _shuffle_ – towards the sounds of the radio that comes buzzing through a doorway. Beyond is a rustic looking kitchen and Peter leans against a sink, a foggy window behind his shoulder.

“Good morning,” he says softly, eyeing me carefully as I take a seat at the table that occupies the centre of the room. I nod once, not able to say anything. I find it hard to look at him and I don’t know why but I feel almost ashamed. He on the other hand has no such problem. He never takes his eyes off me, I can feel his gaze as if it has a weight to it. He moves in my peripheral vision and before me he sets out a rack of toast, a jar of jam and a slice of butter. My stomach recoils and I sit back with a grimace.

“No…nothing to eat,” I say and look up at him finally. He cocks an eyebrow and shrugs lightly before offering me a cup of tea. I take it, curling it to my chest, if just to have something warm to cling to. He moves away and sits at the opposite side of the table, lowering his own cup to the surface. He sits back, utterly relaxed and his eyes trail over every part of me he can see. It is a thorough scrutiny, as if he is seeing me for the first time. Or maybe he is checking if I have changed in some way, if my outward appearance reflects my crime. I expect it does, I must look a fright but he stares at me like I am some precious test or game he wants to solve.

“I’ve run you a bath,” he says, as if it is the most natural thing in the world, as if we were never enemies at all. The world has turned upside down and reason means nothing now. I nod in thanks and take a sip of the tea. It is strong, with just a touch of milk, just as I always like it. It washes away the taste of salty tears in my mouth but not for long.

Tea consumed he gets up and moves around the table to stand before me. He offers his hands and after a pause I take them and he helps me stand. The bath is up a small, rickety staircase that is situated in the living room. It is only a short flight of steps but by the time we get to the top I am panting. I feel like I have aged a century in the space of a night. The top of the house consists of two bedrooms, a bathroom and an attic all recently installed with plumbing and electricity. He tells me all this quietly as we stop before the bathroom, his arm around my waist. I never noticed but he towers over me, almost a foot taller than myself. Inside an iron tub sits filled with streaming clean water. Towels, my toiletries and a fresh dress is all laid out for me. I stare at him.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I am,” he says and his lips curl softly. I stare at him and his eyes become entrapped in mine. I don’t know what his reasons are, I don’t know if he cares for me or not, if this is just some horrible trick. All I can count on is that I am still breathing and the way his gaze lingers on me and what it could mean. I step into the bathroom, never taking my eyes off him, and as the door shuts it’s as if something snaps between us. I touch the back of the door.

“…are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Will you stay there? Will you talk to me?” I can’t bear the weight of silence or the thought of being alone with only myself for company. I need distractions, I need him.

“If you like…but you have to talk to me too,” he adds firmly and I pause. Does he fear that I will not answer and the reasons why? I look around the bathroom and the only way I could viably kill myself is either by drowning in half a foot of bath water or throwing myself out of the tiny window. That he might fear this does something oddly pleasant to me as a tingle of warmth spreads through my skin. I grip the bottom of my nightie and grit my teeth in determination as I pull it over my head quickly, like someone pulling off a plaster. It hurts and my muscles scream in protest but I manage it. I let it fall to the floor and catch my reflection in the shaving mirror on the wall. My hair is a wild, windblown mess and my skin is pale and eyes ringed with shadows but it is still me. I haven’t aged and I haven’t turned into some monster.

_But inside…_

I get into the bath and as the hot water surrounds my body I sigh in relief. It is heavenly and I wish I could just stay in it forever. I lie still, not moving a muscle, as if dead. Steam rises, hovering off the water and my exposed skin and I think of nothing, just the water, warmth and my body. Soon nothing enters my mind and I sink into a strange droning trance.

“Wendy?!”

His voice breaks into the silence and I jerk up, making the water slosh. The bath is lukewarm and my skin is pebbled. I must have fallen asleep, or some part of my mind drifted away. He bangs on the door and I have no doubt that he would break it down to get to me, my state of undress notwithstanding.

“I’m here! I’m sorry, I – I don’t know what happened…” did I blank out? I sit up, shivering, and reach for a bar of soap and quickly and vigorously wash myself. My body still aches but it is not as sharp as before. I force my head under water, wetting my hair and wash it with the soap as well. It will dry frizzy but at least it will be clean. I pull the plug out and watch the water run away, knees to my chest, and imagine all the hollowness inside being sucked away with the water. I sit there freezing until he bangs on the door and once again I am startled back to myself.

“I will force the door open if you don’t come out. It’s been ages,” he warns is a low voice from behind the door.

“I know,” is all I can say. Gritting my teeth I climb out and towel myself dry before putting on the dress he left for me. It’s a party dress, one far too formal but I put it on anyway. I then brush my teeth as my stomach starts to growl with hunger but I ignore it. I brush my hair and leave it to dry, suddenly too tired to do anything but tie it back. I feel exhausted but as I open the door something like electricity shoots through me. He stares hard from under his eyebrows, as if he is trying to read my mind. I stare at him impassively until he drops his gaze and gives me a once over.

“You look tired. Sleep,” he steps back and motions to one of the bedrooms. I follow him, feet dragging and he leads me into a simple but comfortable room. A large iron wrought bed stands against the far wall and straight before me is a spectacular view. Mist rolls off the sea and touches the window panes, the sun not yet up to burn it away. I can just make out a garden and an old stone wall but beyond that is just swirling whiteness.

I do not complain at being ordered, I don’t have the will to. I climb into the bed and he pulls the covers over me as I inhale the scent of the pillow. It smells of him, this is his bed. I stare as he moves back but he doesn’t leave, instead he moves to the window and sits in an armchair. He has a view of me and the sea.

“You’re staying?”

“Yes.”

“I’m in your bed. I’m not going to run away…” I mutter sleepily. The bed is comfortable, a toasty bed heater at my feet, but I feel too exposed. I want someone to hold but I can’t bring myself to ask him. Peter smirks slightly but just as I drift off I see pain in his eyes, grief and I wonder then what Felix was like.

 

*

 

I sleep for hours and wake with a headache. I am ravenous and feel almost sick with it. I sit up and see that Peter is still in the armchair. He is staring out of the window and is bathed in dusk light. He turns to me and his eyes glow, the sunset making his irises almost gold in the light. I wake with a sense of clarity and the numbness that plagued me is fading, as if the light has robbed me of it. Suddenly all I can think about is Ruf, about his final moments and what I have done. Nothing I do will banish the thoughts and so they burst out of my mouth.

“Did – did he have any family?” I ask, desperate to know but dreading the answer. I did not know him, I knew nothing about him. He could have children for all I know.

“…He was an orphan. He didn’t have any family to speak of,” he answers after a pause, his words measured and low.

“Children? A loved one?” I want to know every painful detail, I want to know the full weight of my crime. Peter’s jaw clenches and moves from side to side, as if irritated.

“No, none.”

“Are You lying to me? Please don’t, I need to know,” I throw the covers back as he stands and he is definitely annoyed now. Maybe he hoped I would stay in a state of oblivion but nothing could have stopped this storm of guilt inside me. I go to him but stop myself from touching. I craved to feel him as close to as possible but now I can’t bear the thought. I feel contaminated.

“I’m not lying. He had no one and I assure you absolutely no one will miss him. Forget him,” he instructs me and leaves the room and I gape at him. Forget? Is he insane? Maybe he can but I cannot and will not. I follow him from the bedroom and down to the living room before practically chasing him into the kitchen.

“I can’t forget! How can you ask such a thing?”

“Because he’s not worth it! Not a second of your time or pity,” he says and rounds on me. I had felt his anger, the grief that he had been withholding but it seems to be my shame for the man I had killed that has pushed him over the edge. He seems furious that I feel guilty.

“You might see it that way but not me. I have done a terrible thing!”

“It was an accident! And even if it wasn’t it still amounts to the same thing. I’m glad he’s dead and no one should give a damn,” he shakes with anger, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. I step back, frightened because he doesn’t look human anymore, hate twisting him. He blames Ruf for Felix’s fate and that makes my crime obsolete. It does not even factor for him.

“Well I care. He might have been the most terrible person but that doesn’t excuse what I’ve done. I – I can’t go on living without making amends.”

“What?” the anger on his face bleeds away until he looks at me warily. “What are you talking about?”

“I must turn myself in, I must hand myself over to the police.” Even saying it makes me feel better, the turmoil of guilt and disgust calming at the prospect. I feel so tense I could be sick with it. I need release. Peter blinks at me, his expression one of surprise but suddenly he starts to laugh.

“Turn yourself in? To the police?” bemusement drips from his words.

“Yes…don’t laugh at me!” I yell suddenly. How dare he mock me? I’m only in this mess because of him!

“Then don’t say such stupid things!” he barks, baring his teeth again and I feel like crying. I can feel it building up in my chest, tightening my throat but I force myself to stop.

“What I say or do from this point on doesn’t concern you. You don’t understand, I don’t know if you’re even capable of it but I have to do this. Otherwise I won’t be able to live with myself,” tears obscure my vision but I can see the way his face draws up into another snarl.

“If you even think about leaving, think about going to the police, I swear I will force you back into that room and lock you in there until you see reason,” his words are soft and calm, at odds with his contorted face but I can feel rage boiling off him. Where is the person who tended to my injuries last night? Did he even exists or was he just a mask concealing this?

“I – I won’t tell them about you, I won’t breathe a word. Please I can’t stay another second here,” I move back but he grabs my arm and pulls me to him. His face is inches away and his eyes are blazing like hellfire.

“You go to the police you’ll inevitably end up incriminating me. But that’s not the reason why I can’t let you turn yourself in,” he says and his anger deepens into something I can’t name. “The thought of you being imprisoned, punished for that worthless traitor’s death makes me want to scream. Do you understand? I would rather turn _myself_ in to prevent that.”

I blink at him, his words ringing in my ears. He would turn himself in for a crime he didn’t commit? He would do that for me? Why? I stare at him, trapped in his gaze and I cannot look away. Steadily his anger fades until he stares at me thoughtfully, his familiar half smirk curling his lip but soon even that expression changes into something soft and open. His eyes move to my mouth and I lick my lips involuntarily.

“Why are you doing this?” the question is squeezed out of my tense throat.

“Because I knew from the moment I saw you at the bus stop,” he answers softly, his lingering gaze moving back up to my eyes.

“Knew what?”

“That you were mine,” the words breathe from his lips to mine and I inhale them in. He smiles and lifts a hand to brush a curl away from my face. “You’re mine and I promise you I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

He lowers his lips with an aching slowness and then moves back before touching me. I move with him, chasing his teasing kiss as if magnetised. For a few mad seconds I want to feel his lips on mine, I want to lick the inside of his mouth as he kisses me over and over again but he pulls back and walks away, leaving me wanting.

What is wrong with me? Have I lost my mind?

*

Days pass. I wake up, eat, bathe and sleep but I grow to dread the night. I cannot sleep without nightmares, without reliving not just his death but my own incarceration. One night I woke up unable to breathe after one horrible nightmare where I hang. He came to me, shushing my fears away and I would have welcomed him into my bed but I stopped at the last second. His presence unsettles me more and more each day and I am ashamed to admit why.

“Where is it?”

“What?” he is fiddling around with the turn table, slotting another record into place. He is naturally calm and in control but I think the strain of the situation is getting to him too. His previous boyishness is all but gone, though he still likes to tease me. He turns, his hair standing on end and I want to flatten my hands down around his head. Music floats around us, as it does almost every hour and I am thankful for it. It saves us from talking to fill the silence but this cannot go unsaid any longer.

“My ring.”

“What ring?” he asks distractedly and turns back to the record player. He ducks down to stare out of the window, something he does often. I move over to him and pull him around. Touching him makes it hard to breathe.

“My engagement ring. Where is it?”

He stares at me, his eyes narrowed in calculation and his nostrils flare a little. “What use is it to you?”

“It’s mine! Why did you think I want it!? I’m betrothed,” I whisper the last words, as if to break it to him easy but it’s also to remind myself. Whatever strange reaction is happening inside my body – likely down to stress and mental strain – I must not lose sight of the truth. I am not his no matter what he says. If he will not let me go than at least I can restore some reason.

“Again what use is it to you now? You said he was missing presumed dead?”

“Yes so there is a hope that he is alive,” I say but the conviction I once felt so strongly is just an echo now. The girl who loved Bae so sweetly feels like someone else now and I experience a sudden clap of dread. What if he is alive and comes back for me and finds _this_?

“You think it would just go on as normal if he was back?” he asks silkily, as if reading my mind. “Everything is different now Wendy, everything has changed…you’re not the same,” he says softly and I tilt my head and bite the inside of my mouth.

“I know, I just realised…I pray that he is alive but – but I can’t marry him or anyone. I’m ruined.” I am untouchable, I will never have the life I dreamed of; I will never marry, never have children or the job I dream of. I will never be able to show my face in the street without the fear of discovery. It is only now that I can envision what my future will be like and I wish I hadn’t.

“Wendy,” he breathes and cups my cheek. His expression is tender but I saw the gleam of victory in his eyes. This is what he wants, he wants me to admit defeat, to admit that I have no one else but him but that’s not true. I pull away from his hand, shaking my head.

“My family will understand.”

“Will they? Hmm, they might but how will their lives change at the news? You think they’d be unaffected?” he smiles thinly, meanly and I hate it. “When people learn that the Darling’s daughter is a killer they’ll be shunned. Would you bring that into their lives?”

“Of course not! My family is without blame and I would never inflict such misery on them…but I miss them so much I can’t breathe.” Imagining the worry and pain that they must be going through right now makes me want to be sick.

His calculating eyes become cold and he tilts his head. “Without blame? Your family is not as white and shining as you believe.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

I glare at him but he just continues to stare at me with the same coldness, his lips curled up at the corner. I hold out my hand again and the lip curl turns into a smirk. He is insufferable and I waver between loathing and…something else. I’m about to shout at him for the ring when he laces his fingers through my upraised hand. I inhale as he leads me to the front door and outside. The sun is setting, though we have some hours of sunshine left. The wind is bracing against my cheeks and it combs through my hair, pulling it back from my face. It is a beautiful place, old and melancholy. His hand is firm around mine and I know he will not let go. He has let me stroll around before this but never alone.

“I know you feel that your life is over, that it’s ruined but it’s just starting Wendy. It might not be what you dreamed of but I promise I won’t turn my back on you for what’s happened. Do you understand?”

I understand. I think my crime has endeared myself to him in a way that I can’t even begin to fathom and I hate myself because I am starting to see it, to feel it. I don’t want to be alone with this sin and he is the only person I can turn to. Music drifts out from the open door, _Moonlight Serenade_ , as I turn to him, gazing at his strangely beautiful face and I shake my head.

“I wish I had never met you.”

He smiles softly. “I think it was inevitable. I think we always have and always will,” he whispers it tenderly, his odd words almost blown away by the wind and this time when he cups my face I do not pull back. His lips are soft and warm on mine, teasing but I push my mouth against his hard and my tongue licks his before I pull back violently.

There is a policeman staring over the stone wall at us.


	7. Chapter 7

“Good evening,” the policeman says politely, nodding his head and gives a brief smile. I am immobile, I am so stunned at his sudden appearance that I can only stand there and stare but as I register who he is an uncontrolled panic floods through me and I shake. Beside me Peter moves against my side and I feel his hand running down my arm to grip my hand tightly. It hurts but I squeeze his fingers until my knuckles go white.

“Evening. What brings you out here?” Peter asks courteously and his voice is level and with not a hint of panic. I do not know how he can be so calm, so controlled but then I feel his crushing hand on mine and realise that he may be as anxious as I feel. I lick my lips and try to smile at the policeman who gazes at me intensely for a moment. I feel like he can see the guilt on me, the sin, like a taint and he knows what I have done. This suspicion comes an inexplicable sense of relief. 

“Checking to see if everything is okay out here,” The policeman’s eyes move slowly back to Peter. He is Irish. He still stands behind the wall, the land rising up so he is looking down on us and the sun is shines hazily behind him. He is young, though older than us, and very handsome. The dusk light makes his hair shine like burnished gold, a halo almost, and glints off the beard on his face. He is _shining_ ; even the wet, sand clogged wellies on his legs gleam in the sun. 

 _How did he get here?_  

“Oh there’s no need, everything is perfectly fine here,” Peter answers smoothly and smiles, and I wish he had not. His face is not made for innocence, his smiles always hold a touch of anarchy, of corruption. The policeman’s dark eyes narrow for a moment before he looks back at me. I feel like I’m being electrocuted every time his eyes land on me. What must I appear like to him? A small, quivering girl he had interrupted kissing? Or a guilty woman? 

 _Why had I kissed him? God I’m losing my mind._  

“Glad to hear it,” he says and subtly motions his head for Peter to come forward, casting me a quick glance. It is a look I can read immediately: what he has to say is not for delicate ears. But as Peter moves forward, walking smoothly he brings me along with him. I think our hands are fused together, I don’t think I can let go and he won’t. I move a step behind, legs stiff and my stomach twists and turns into terrible knots until my whole torso aches with pain. I sweat, I avoid his eyes as he takes another curious glance at me. 

_Oh why does he look at me like that? What does he know?_

We reach the wall and Peter leans against it, making some of the lose stones shift a little under his weight. Up close I get a better look at him. He really is handsome but in a rustic way, as if he should be hunting for beasts in some wild wood somewhere and live in a cabin. He lifts a hand to scratch at his cheek and I see a flash of gold. He is married. 

“Uh I have some…distressing news,” he says and casts me another look filled with unease. Peter shrugs. 

“She can take it, can’t you darling?” his voice is cheery, too much and I have to force a smile to match it. I nod stiffly after a beat, remembering too late. I must look insane.

“Well if you’re sure miss,” he says softly and finally looks away, turning from us to stare over the dipping, rolling land that falls away into sea mist. “Last night a body washed up on the beach – on the mainland,” he clarifies, his eyes narrowed and his face serious. “No idea who he is, a stranger but judging by the tides…” he trails off and shrugs, turning back to us. “I thought this place was worth a look, see if anyone had seen any strangers about.”

“Well that’s just awful,” Peter says in a shocked whisper but to my ears it is too insincere, too theatrical. I swallow and try to keep standing, forcing my face into an expression of shocked dismay.

 _They have found him, oh god they've found his body!_  

“No strange folk about?” he asks and tilts his head at Peter, as if trying to place him. “You’re the Spinner’s boy aren’t you? I thought I’d find this place abandoned. I didn’t know you had come back…so you inherited it?” he asks and Peter stiffens next to me. He seems to become sharp, poised like an animal sensing danger and my heart is about to burst at the sudden latent danger that surrounds us. 

“Yes,” Peter answers and his voice is dead, colourless and it makes me feel sick. “Neither of us saw any strangers or anything odd, did we?” Peter tugs on my arm a little and it forces the trapped words out of my mouth. 

“No! I – I haven’t seen anyone…only you,” my voice shakes and I cannot stop it. I clear my throat and look down and what I see almost makes me collapse. In Peter’s hand is a jagged rock, one he must have gently pulled out from the wall while he talked. He grips it convulsively, the muscles along his arm flexing and I look back up sharply.

_Please no violence, oh god please…if he asks anymore questions Peter will snap!_

But the policeman is blissfully unaware of the violence that could be unleashed upon him and continues to stare between us. He knows something is wrong, I can see it on his face. I had longed for this, for a policeman to come and take me away. First it was to rescue me, to save me from the man holding my hand but then it turned into a need of confession. There is a force inside me, a pull that wants to divulge my crime, to have that weight lifted but now, as I stare at the embodiment of the law I can feel the tightening of the noose around my throat and I cannot speak.

_I cannot live with myself….but I don’t want to die or be forced into a cell for the rest of my life. I know I have done wrong but I want to live…but I cannot stay here. I want to go home._

The sudden need for my family is all consuming and I feel my eyes stinging with tears. I just want to see my mother again, my father and brothers. I just want to be in my own room and pretend that none of this ever happened. The need is so strong that it makes blood roar in my ears and my heart pound.

As if to remind me of the truth Peter brushes his thumb along the back of my hand and I know then that I will never see home again. He will not let me because he thinks he has found love, or whatever it is he feels, and so my life is entwined in his like vines. The rock still sits in his hand, ready to draw blood and I know he is mostly doing it for me. I look back up at the policeman and I just want him gone, for his sake as well as my own.

“See? We haven’t noticed anything but if we do we’ll be sure to let you know. If you’ll excuse us?” Peter says politely but firmly, turning aside.

“Yes, it’s getting rather late,” I add and my voice is steady but the policeman gazes at me with mild concern. I thought his eyes were brown but they’re a dark blue, like cobalt. I wonder suddenly what his wife is like, if they have children and want to know his name.

“Miss are you all right?” he asks flatly and Peter stirs beside me, his body brushing against mine. At his heartfelt concern I feel like crying but I hold back. My nerves are wrecked and any little thing seems to set me off. I wonder what I look like, has the blood rushed from my face? Do I look ill? I think I must.

“I’m fine, thank you. Just – just a little unwell,” I smile weakly and lean against Peter, who relaxes but just a little. The policeman nods, looking unconvinced but when he takes a step back I feel shaky with relief.

“Very well, I’ll say goodnight. Sorry for taking up your time but I’m grateful,” he says and turns to leave. I don’t know what made me ask, only that I feel like once he leaves I will never see another person again. I don’t want to go to prison but I don’t want to be forgotten.

“What’s your name?” I ask and Peter makes a low warning noise in his throat and tightens his hand around mine painfully. The policeman turns with a smile, the suns setting rays on him. He looks like a fairy tale knight and not a mud splattered, tired officer.

“PC Graham Humbert…and you?”

“Oh I…” I trail off because I know the moment my name leaves my mouth Peter will jump over the wall and bash his head in with the rock. He will kill to keep me undiscovered…but I have to tell him something. “Moira, my name is Moira.”

“If you ever need anything Moira or see anything suspicious the station is just along the Main Road,” he says helpfully but I flounder. _Main Road? What road?_

“How did you get here?” the question bursts from me and Peter’s hand slides up from my hand to ring my wrist in an iron grip as waves of fury surround him like a heat mirage. I don’t care, I must know where I am.

“I came along the isthmus.”

“The what?” I have never heard the word before. He pronounces it as _ismus_. It sounds magical, maybe I really am in some other world and he has the bad fortune to stumble upon it.

“The strip of land that connects this island to the mainland,” he explains and frowns in confusion. “But you must know that surely?”

“We travel by boat,” Peter suddenly barks and his smile is manic, full of too many teeth and I know he is seconds away from snapping. Graham is a policeman, he is bigger and older but I feel that Peter could kill him if given the chance, or at least seriously harm him. I can’t let that happen, I won’t have more bloodshed.

“We do, sorry I just had never heard the term before. I really am very tired now so I’ll say goodnight,” I turn and walk away and Peter’s hand slips from mine. My wrist is red raw and I know there will be a bruise. I wait at the door for Peter to come but he still stands there, body stiff and poised like an arrow. He leans forward on his toes, as if some force is pushing him towards Graham, who gazes at him intensely. They are like two wolves squaring off and the cloud of hostility lowers until the policeman turns and walks away. Once he crests a hill and disappears Peter comes to me. I watch him warily, half wanting to run after Graham. I back away into the doorframe without thinking as he stops inches from me.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he breathes and his eyes are so strange, so bright that I cannot look away. He moves away, the loss of his body heat leaving me cold and I feel like I’ve been snapped out of an enchantment. Indignation stabs through me.

“Don’t tell me what to do, you have no right,” I shout as I follow him in and bang the door shut. He stalks into the living room, his shoulders hunched and hand fisted and rounds on me. His face is demonic with anger.

“He knows something is up! You should have kept your mouth shut,” he yells and paces up and down the like some mad animal in an enclosure. How can someone usually so utterly calm and in control have this berserk rage hidden inside them? More than ever I want to run from the house screaming for help but I know how that will end.

“Don’t you dare blame me! You abducted me remember!? You imprisoned me and threatened my family and threatened me with death! So no fuck you very much! You can rant and rave like a child but I will not wilt like a flower because something doesn’t go your way!” Who does he think he is talking to? Does he think I will acquiesce and roll over? I am shamed, I am a coward for not turning myself in but I will not pacify him of all people.

“I just want to protect you,” he says and a flash of shocked bemusement enters his eyes, like it does every time I defy him.

“You want me in a cage,” I retort and exhale, calming myself. He drives me wild.

“How have you been hidden from me all this time?” Peter cocks his head, his anger visibly fading until he starts to smile tiredly. He lifts a hand to run though his tangled hair and a laugh escapes him, one that peter’s off into a sigh. He gazes at me fondly and I shift, uncomfortable. We had kissed, it almost seems unreal now but I had kissed him. Why had I done that? He is handsome but he is not someone I should ever be so intimate with. It’s not right or proper but I have still done it.

_My god, I am insane._

A silence settles around us, one backed with the constant resonance of the sea. We stand in an illicit air, I feel like every second he stares at me I breathe it in and it takes up residence. I have done wrong, he knows it and that somehow makes us cohorts, makes us a pair but still something in me fights it. He is not like me, he is so far below me that he and his ilk never see the sun but I am, _I was_ , the opposite. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life skulking and hiding, forced into some chthonic existence where I only reach the surface to breathe. That is not what my life should be, even if I possibly have someone to share it with. This thought brings me back and I watch Peter as he removes a record from the turntable and replaces it with another.

“We’ll have to leave at first light because he’ll be back and he won’t be alone,” he states calmly as he places the needle on the record. He turns to me and gazes as I sit boneless on the couch. His eyes linger until he breathes my name and sits on the coffee table in front of me. Our knees touch.

“I don’t want this.”

“We’ll leave this all behind bird. I know a place, a place far away where no one will know or care,” he says it softly, enticing and for a moment I see white sands and swaying palm trees, a place where we have crabs for dinner and sleep entwined under mosquito nets. I squeeze my eyes closed.

“Do you know why I was going back to London? I’m a Girl Guide leader and some of the girls in my group lost their fathers, brothers, uncles and so on. I was going to take them camping, to cheer them up. All I can see are those sad faces, my girls, waiting for me but I’m here. They must be so worried, they all must be.”

“In time you can inform them that you’re well but not yet, it’s too soon,” he says firmly and then smiles in amusement that clearly harbours a salaciousness. “A Girl Guide? You must know your knots. Could you tie me up?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I say, avoiding his deeply bemused expression. I feel like I will catch it if I stare. He chuckles and reaches for my hands and gently tugs me to him. My wrist is red and he handles me gently but I see that he did not get off lightly either. A line of angry red crescents mar the back of his hand. I must have been holding so tightly I dug my nails in and drew blood. The tiny wounds give me a strange thrill because there is a part of me that just wants to fly at him and beat him bloody but another part, a soft, fragile thing throbs achingly. I don’t want any part of me soft for him and certainly nothing that throbs.

“Moira?” he asks, his hands turning mine palm up. Funny how someone who can wield deathly weapons can touch with such gentleness.

“My middle name, one of many,” I answer dryly and then tilt my head, feeling curious despite my better judgement. “Who were the Spinners? The policemen mentioned them. Did they live here?”

He looks up at me from under his eyebrows, bent over my hands. He gives me a deeply searching stare, like he sizing me up, testing to see if I am the right sort for him to share his secrets with. I am.

“They were sisters who took me in as a child, after my mother gave me up,” he says with no feeling. “They spun wool for a living,” he explains, motioning to the spinning wheel in the corner. “I lived with them until I was fifteen and then moved around the country and then the world but came back here a few months ago after they died.” Here and only here does his voice shake. Whoever they were they clearly meant something to him.

“Around the world?”

“I met Felix in America,” he says and that touch of sadness in his eyes deepens greatly. “I saved his life, he got into an unfair fight but we saw them right,” he smiles in affection but his eyes swim. I don’t remember when I did it but I look down and my fingers are laced in his. His watery smile wobbles and he bows his face down so all I can see is the top of his head. His shoulders hunch and his hands shake in mine.

“What is it?”

“…He hanged for a crime I committed and he did so willingly,” the last word he spits out angrily and his body shakes harder but he still doesn’t look up. “I should have been the one to swing and he knew it so he made sure he was caught. The police knew it wasn’t him but he was my right hand, getting him was as good as getting me. They wanted to send a message to me and the rest of the underworld that we were not untouchable…bullshit, they’re as corrupt as us if not more so. That _bastard_ needed a win to save his own neck and snapped Felix’s instead,” he shivers with rage and grief, his misery so contagious that I feel my chest heaving in sadness. When he looks up at me he appears so broken and guilty that I do not think before I act. I pull him into my arms and hold him, fingers combing through his hair as he buries his face against my neck.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as his arms grip me tightly around the waist and he almost pulls me off the seat.  I shouldn’t show him pity but I can’t stop myself. I always come undone by other people’s suffering. He gets on his knees between my legs and looks up at me. His eyes are dry, he has shed no tears. Maybe he’s incapable or maybe he doesn’t know how but I think confessing has lifted what must have been a weight. My hands remain on his head, fingers threading through his hair.

“I won’t let that happen to you, do you understand?”

I nod, what else can I say? I go over what he had said and gaze at him curiously. “You said _that bastard_ needed a win. Who is that?”

Peter blinks at me and something guarded comes over his face. He does not answer straight away and I know I will not get the entire truth when he answers. He smirks with no humour as I lower my hands from his hair.

“Let’s just say there are some members of his Majesty’s constabulary who are as bent as a hook and one of them is the biggest hook of all…” he sneers, his eyes flickering with scorn.

“Corruption?”

“You have no idea…and I’m thankful you don’t,” he says quietly and again grasps my hands. I gaze at him, at the clear affection in his eyes and I have to hold back a sigh. I see it, I acknowledge it but I do not know what to do with it. I could use it so easily, I know I could. He is cunning and dangerous, very intelligent but I think I could play on his desire for me, pluck him like strings and make him hum until he is left shaken. I could lure him into a sense of security, give him everything I possibly can and then escape when he does not expect it. But when? He wants to leave in the morning and god knows what will happen then. I sigh, slumping.

“I need a drink,” I groan and Peter smiles, clearly liking the idea. He gets to his feet and my hands slide slowly out of his. I hear him rummaging around in the kitchen before he comes out with two tumblers and a bottle of wine. I don’t drink wine, it is guaranteed to get me totally legless after half a glass but when he pours the deep red liquid into my tumbler I gulp the first mouthful down and he laughs.

“So, how did your life of crime begin?” I ask, head buzzing already. He sits down on the floor before me, legs crossed like a pixie and I’m amused.

“Thieving mostly but one day I swayed my classmates away from their homes and kept them for a night,” he says with a wicked gleam in his eyes and I shiver.

“Why did you do that?”

“I hated their parents, they looked down on me and the aunties…and I was lonely,” he adds thoughtfully, his gaze wistful. I can only imagine what sort of childhood he must have had, not the happy one that I experienced that’s for sure. Maybe that is why he often seems so boyish, to reclaim something he never really had. What am I waffling about? I feel tipsy already.

“The greatest crime I committed before coming here was taking in a stray puppy and hiding it from my parent’s for weeks. I would sneak food from the table and get in trouble so I could feed the poor thing.”

“But you didn’t get away with it?” he asks, his eyes gleaming warmly. God, he really is striking to look upon, he must have had so many women that they all blur into one in his head.

“Oh but I did. Nana is living quite comfortably still at the foot of my bed,” thinking of my lovely old dog makes my chest feel tight and my eyes prickle with tears. “I miss her so much…”

“That’s quite impressive,” he says and pours more wine into my glass. I see his game but I drink anyway. The alcohol has a lovely numbing effect and nothing seems too painful if I don’t dwell on it for long. I stare at his face and inspect closer and he cocks an eyebrow.

“Has anyone ever told you that your ears stick out?” I flick his ear and he shuts an eye but smiles, his eyes slightly glassy with the drink.

“Yes but they learned to say it only once,” he says softly but his threat seems ridiculous to me.

“I think they’re rather adorable,” I slur and lean forward to brush my fingers along one of his eyebrows. “I thought you were some chap from under a hill come to take me away you know.”

At this he laughs outright and the way it transforms his face is nothing short of breath-taking. I run the back of my fingers down his cheek and his smile settles into a tender expression. The music skips and he gets to his feet to put another one on, breaking the strange soft spell around us. I frown and place a hand to my forehead, lowering the glass onto the table. What am I doing?

 _Star Dust_ by Miller plays around us as he comes to me and offers a hand. I take it after a pause and he pulls me into his arms. We may be captured tomorrow, we may be sharing a cell come morning but for now we dance. I realise as he begins to turn us in slow circles that I have not thought about Ruf once since the policeman. I do not know what to think about that so I just push him from my mind.

Peter gazes down at me and his desire is a tangible thing and I am so stuck by it that when he leans down to brush his lips against mine I do not pull back. I should, I should push him away and tell him no but I don’t. For all my bemoaning and denials about him and I being different there is truly no one else in the world who now knows me so completely. I said my crime had endeared me to him but I think it has worked both ways and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

His mouth touches the corner of my lips, teasing and light but I slant my head to fully press a kiss on him. If this is going to happen I want nothing held back, I do not want him to feign or mask anything for my benefit. We are not gentle, we are not innocent and it would be wrong to pretend otherwise. I open my mouth and the tip of his tongue licks against mine before he delves deeper and we kiss hungrily. He gathers me up in his arms and I wrap mine around his neck. I can feel the heat of his chest against my own and my body thrums with arousal. I break away from his mouth, needing air but he captures them again greedily, kissing roughly as his hands roam down my body, rubbing and caressing until a moan escapes me. I can feel how hard he is already and when he presses me against a wall, his hands hiking up my knees, I rub against him wantonly.

I lean my head back against the wall and he brushes my hair off my face. I feel very drunk, my brain fuzzy and not able to hold a thought. However I know I am more aroused than I have ever been in my life. Bae has never been able to elicit such a reaction from me. We were innocent and tender and this is anything but. It is perverse but what else could it be? I stare under my lashes at Peter as he looks like I’m something he wants to eat and my chest heaves. I just want him to take me, to rip my clothes off and kiss me until I can’t breathe. I want to feel him inside me, I want to be taken rough and hard until he fucks out the last vestiges of the person I used to be.  I lick my lips and he looks like he is drowning as I speak in a slurring moan.

“Make me yours.”

So he does.


	8. Chapter 8

There is a large dressing table opposite the bed with a dark mirror, the substrate under the glass speckled with corruption around the edges. I watch as he rips my blouse off, pulls my skirt down my legs, tears my tights off with his teeth and it is so uncontrolled, so uncivilised that I can’t stop looking at our reflection to make sure it is real. I feel like Alice confronted with a looking glass and not sure what side is genuine. Nothing feels real. He pushes my face away from the mirror and I focus on him. He is breathing fast, his lips full and red from my mouth and his eyes shine in the dark. I crane my head up, chasing his kiss but he pulls back, his lips curling playfully but I do not have the patience for his games anymore. I lean up and catch his lip between my teeth, biting him and he stiffens above me with a groan before he pushes me back down and kisses me again. I had stripped him of his shirt as we made our way up the stairs, which had taken a lot longer than it should as he spun me around and pushed his hand up my skirt, my backside pressed tight against his erection. He had pushed two fingers into me, his other arm holding me against his chest as I tried not to lose control. I thought we wouldn’t make it up the stairs but he half carried me up to the room.

He captures my hands and pins them down by my head as he moves down to kiss my chest. He takes toothless bites at my breasts, rolling his tongue around the nipples and I writhe under him, hypersensitive and so aroused it’s almost painful. I spread my legs apart and wrap them around his hips and grind myself against him. He lets go of my hands to cup my breast, moulding the flesh in his hand before he squeezes and leaves red marks on my skin. His other hand pushes my leg back, hooking it over his arm and spreads my knees apart. God I feel like I’m going to explode as he pushes his tongue into my mouth and kisses ferociously. I run the palms of my hand down his back as he breaks away from my mouth and I see his teeth flash in the dark as he grins carnivorously. It should unnerve me but it just adds to the lust rushing through my blood. I have never been taken like this, never been handled rough. I am small and as such my old lover treated me as something fragile, something to handle with care. Peter knows I am no such thing and I don’t think I ever have been. He strips me bare and rises over me and I take his cock into my hand. He is hard and I like the way he feels in my hand. I squeeze gently, experimentally and he seems to choke on a whimper and I give a grin to match his. I run my hand down him, pumping slowly and he hovers above me, shaking a little and his head bowed but as I work him faster he suddenly grabs my hand with a hissing noise and moves between my legs. He gazes at me, face half hidden in shadow but for his eyes, and I feel hypnotised as he pushes his penis inside. I am ready for him and it does not hurt but I feel stiff as he thrusts all the way in quickly and stops. He rests his elbows near my shoulders, his chest pressing against mine, and brushes my hair back with his fingers and lowers his lips to mine in a gentle kiss. That is the only tenderness we experience and when he pulls his mouth away he pushes my knee back towards my chest and slams into me.

I turn my face to the mirror again, watching him above me, watching myself and again I am beset with a doubt about my reality. But then the sudden way he strokes into me shatters any doubts and I turn back and he captures my mouth immediately. I hold onto him, rolling my hips fast to meet his thrusts and nothing else matters, it is just him and I and the building pleasure that starts to blast through me in increasing waves. It intensifies when he pushes my hand down, instructing me to touch myself with a look and the first touch of my fingers has me bucking under him. I cry out his name, straining for release and press my mouth to his shoulder and bite down. Again he shudders and growls in delight and I bite harder but not enough to draw blood. It drives him crazy. He suddenly pulls me up so that I’m sitting on his lap and with his hands on my hips he pounds up into me as I pull him against my chest. I can feel his heart beating and he breathes erratically into my hair and I know he is close. I squeeze around him, jerking my hips and he stiffens and pushes me back down and with hard fast movements he spills into me, breathing my name against my throat. I follow after him, hand back between my legs and he watches me as I orgasm. He smiles with a look of deep pleasure that blurs into victory as I shake and gasp under him. He kisses my forehead, cheeks and finally my mouth before he moves to my side. He gathers me to him and gazes into my eyes until I fall sleep.

 

*

 

Throughout the night he wakes me to make love again and again and for the first time in my life I know what it feels like to be desirable to another person. Bae cherished me but not like this, never like this. He wakes me with kisses, his fingers digging into my hips and his mouth on my inner thigh and I’m completely at his mercy when he teases me with his tongue, his head between my legs and I have never felt anything like it. I pay him back in kind and it is the only time he looks vulnerable, looks helpless. I like to hear him breathe my name desperately and come apart, I want more of it, more of him and so I take it as he takes the same from me. For those dark hours there is nothing else in the world but us and the bed.

 

*

 

I wake, startled by something and find the bed empty. I press my hand flat against his side of the mattress and it is still warm. Maybe he is in the bathroom or making breakfast. I look up and see heavy fog rolling up against the window, dense and white. The sun is rising and the night before is over and now holding back the reality of my situation is futile. He wants to run, he wants to leave the country with me to evade capture. I know it’s a sensible plan, a smart one and I think he has enough power and influence to keep us hidden but I don’t want to. I want to go home…and yet imagining never seeing him again creates a lacerating pain through me. I want him, I do but I do not want to sacrifice my whole life for him.

I sit up and groan. I am sore, my head is thumping and the room spins as I get my bearings. Having a hangover when I shortly will likely have to run for my life is not exactly ideal but I notice that he has left me a strong cup of tea on the dressing table and get up for it, slipping on a nightgown. It is still warm so he must have just left. I take a sip, feeling oddly calm and walk to the window. I can just make out the garden in front, the rambling roses and old stone wall, but beyond that it is opaque whiteness. The sea is a susurrus in the distance, quiet but constant and I am about to step back when I notice something below. For a moment the mist parts and I see two people struggling on the ground and the teacup in my hands slips.

Peter is straddling PC Humbert and slamming his fist repeatedly into his face. I rush from the room, the tea soaking into the old carpet like a blood stain. I jump down the stairs and out through the open front door and emerge into the fog. It is so dense that I can only see an arm length before me but I can hear them. Peter is growling, cursing in some undefinable language as if he is so enraged that his ability to speak has left him. I run forward and grab hold of someone – I have no idea who – and pull them back, arm around their neck and we fall onto the grass. His weight lands on me and I know by the feel of him that is it not Peter. Graham turns and looks down at me and at this distance I can see the damage that Peter has inflicted. His nose is bleeding and one eye is closed shut but the mild mannered man from early is gone. He bares his bloody teeth at me but as he sees who it is the feral light in his eyes dims and he starts to speak. It is then that Peter hits him over the head with a rock and he collapses.

“Peter!” I hold out a hand as he lifts the rock again over the defenceless policeman. He is panting, his hair a mess and blood pours down one side of his face. He has not gone unscathed. I have often called him inhuman or otherworldly but in that moment I truly believes he is not human. No one with a soul has eyes like that. I move over Graham, shaking hand still upraised and Peter freezes, the rock still in his hand.

“Move,” he demands and my stomach tightens in fear but I shake my head.

“Drop it, drop it Peter,” I beg him, pleading but he remains in the same position. An absolute and total rage floods through me and I shake. “If you want to kill him you’ll have to strike me first because I will not move until you drop the rock. Now, Peter!” my demand rings out loud, carrying over the air and after a tense, taut pause the rock falls from his hand to the ground. He slumps and I exhale in relief.

“I – I woke, I made you tea and then I saw him from the window…” his gaze is unfocused and he lifts a hand to his face but then frowns and stares at his bloody fingers. Seeing the sight of his own blood seems to snap him out of the daze he is in and he looks down at Graham with cold calculation. He nods once and turns back into the cottage.

“Peter? What are you doing?” I ask as he disappears inside but he does not answer me. I get to my knees and look down at Graham, who is lying face down in the grass. I lean down to his face and with a trembling relief and I can hear him breathing. I stare at the blood in his hair and want to tend to him but my hands hover uselessly over his head.

“Don’t touch him, blood is hard to wash off,” Peter says calmly, coming back out. He carries something shiny in his hand and my stomach drops. It is the chain and manacle. I tense as he comes towards me but he only has eyes for the policeman. There is no rage in his gaze, no murderous lust but a cunning look of someone presented with a troubling puzzle. His eyes flick to me and he smiles.

“W – what?”

“Good morning bird,” he says as if we are back in the room, back in bed drinking tea and reading the papers. I blink and say nothing. There are no words left in me and as he pulls me gently back onto my feet I watch as he places the chain into his pocket and then bends down to turn the policeman over roughly and then slots his arms under the his shoulders. Bent down like this, a helpless man dangling from his embrace, Peter looks at me expectantly from under his eyebrows. I shake my head slowly and my hair waves around my shoulders. I am only in a nightgown and I feel terribly exposed.

“I can’t.”

“I could do it myself but time is running out Wendy. People will look for him and it’s only a matter of time before they come here. We have to sort him out and then leave as soon as possible. Please help me,” he says with a touch of impatience and with stiff movements I bend down and take hold of Graham’s feet.

I’m not sure how long it took us but together we carry him to the boat house and struggle up the stairs to the attic that had once held me prisoner. As soon as Peter unlocks the door and pulls Graham into the room I let his legs fall to the floor with a clunk. I can’t go in any further and I watch with a rotten crawling feeling as Peter chains the policeman to the bed as he had once done to me and in that moment instead of snapping or losing my mind I feel completely and utterly lucid.

_I must escape. This is not me and this will never be me and will have no part in this life. In his life._

I watch as Peer straightens and sighs, staring down at his handy work and his lips twitch with just a hint of smirk before he turns to me. I swallow, masking my face as if that will hide my thoughts, and as he comes close to me I feel like electricity crackles between us. I had given myself to him, I had let him take me in ways that I had never dreamed and enjoyed it all the more for that but as he stops a few feet away I feel like backing away. His eyes are soft and shine with such tenderness and it’s like a punch. _I don’t want to hurt him_.

“This is for you, this is all for you do you understand? I won’t harm him, I’ll leave him here and we’ll leave.”

“Yes,” is the only word that can make its way through my clamped teeth and he cocks his head, as if he knows, as if he can see my decision to leave him on my face, in my eyes. I smile, I try to smile but he inhales sharply and comes to me but then stops, as if some force repels him.

“I love you,” he whispers and I feel like all the air has been sucked out of the room. I open my mouth and try to respond but nothing comes. He flicks his eyes down and then looks up with a smirk, as if untroubled by my non answer, as if he expected it. He reaches for my hand and I let him draw me from the doorway and with my back to him I listen as the door to the attic is closed and the lock clicks into place. In that moment I see the truth and truth is it makes no difference that I am now on the other side of the door.

I am still trapped and always have been.


	9. Chapter 9

“Get dressed.”

He wipes the blood off his face and a part of me wants to help but I can’t move. Peter slips the key to the handcuff into his trouser pocket and hastily unbuttons his shirt. There is blood on it, a shocking vivid red but it is not his own. Fresh blood is a funny colour, it almost looks fake and I wish that it was. He pulls the shirt off and then stuffs it and the bloody rag into the kitchen stove and after a few moments I smell something burning. The acrid aroma stings my nose.

I am still in my nightgown, shivering and feeling naked, and he stares at me intensely. He is full of energy, unable to stand still in one place. He is the opposite of me, I feel like my bones are stone, I feel like I won’t move again but as he reaches out to touch my arm I step back and the paralysis snaps. I think I see hurt in his eyes but maybe it is just what I expect to see. He has declared his love for me and smirked when I said nothing so who can say if he really has the capacity to feel wounded? He can feel grief though, I know that, so maybe it has to be something as final as death to affect him.

“He – he has a head injury,” the words are sluggish in my head and come out even slower from my mouth. He pauses momentarily, staring at me with clear annoyance before he shrugs and pulls on another shirt.

“He’s alive, like I promised. Come on Wendy, we have to go now,” he moves me back with his body but when I reach the stairs and climb a few I turn. He is below me and my upraised finger has the power to still him finally.

“Before we leave I want to make sure he is still breathing. I won’t go unless I know he can survive until he is found.”

“You’re leaving, there’s no compromise,” he says and I can see why despite his age he is a gang leader, why others who may be older would follow his instructions. His tone bookers no argument and while my attempts to defy him usually result in Peter’s bemusement I have not forgotten that he also threatened to lock me back up if I did something he forbids.

“Of course I’m leaving but I just want to treat him before we go,” I lower my hands to his upturned face and brush my lips against his. I hear him inhale deeply and I realise with surprise that the nervous energy he has been displaying is not about the attack on Graham but me. He must have seen my disgust and my decision to leave him on my face. I think that sparked his words, as if they would act as a glue to keep me by his side without force. Is he really anxious about losing me so much?

“Come with me and forget all of this Wendy. Just you and me and the world I can offer you,” he whispers into my ear and rings his arms around my waist before kissing me softly and slowly. A traitorous pain flares through me. I feel something for him, something I have never felt before, not even for Bae, but it scares me because it is undefinable. I go from hating him to loving him as easily as breathing. I know in some other world I would stay with him for the rest of my life but that is just the last remnants of my wistful mind trying to make light of this terrible situation but it will not happen. I will not let it.

“You never once considered staying with me, have you?” I ask and he blinks in confusion. Of course he hadn’t. I think we are both liminal, both have one foot in each other’s worlds but not willing to cross over so we stay in the middle. I can’t live like that but I will play along until I escape, until I get back to where I belong.

_Where is that? Some neverland…that’s the only place we could be together._

I banish the silly thought and try to turn in his arms as his kisses become more demanding, needier and I know I could let him take me on the stairs but he is right, we must leave. I lower my lips to his forehead, hands cradling his head and then give him a little playful push and he stumbles back with a smile. His fingers glide up the back of my bare leg, tickling and teasing and I ball my fists as I climb the stairs, not because I am frightened or revolted but because I want to turn and let myself fall back into his arms.

*

I curl my hair, dress in a green tweed skirt and blazer with a silk white blouse. I will look sombre but presentable for whoever I come across first. I don’t look like a murderer but what do those look like? I fix my stockings, put my shoes on and go back down to find my luggage below. The door is open and Peter is waiting outside.

“Shall I leave the bags here?”

“No, leave no trace,” he says and turns to me. The mist is rolling around us and I experience an intense feeling of deja-vu. He is wearing the outfit I first saw him in and I realise I am wearing something very similar. It is as if we are going back to the beginning. He narrows his eyes at me and then lifts his hand. From his fingers a door key glints.

“Thank you,” I breathe and reach for it but he pulls it back, eyes narrowing even more.

“Can I trust you?” he asks it quietly and I don’t want to mistake his soft voice for vulnerability but it is. Peter must be surrounded by people who he trusts implicitly, how else can criminals conduct their business confidently? I think that is why he was so angry about Ruf and so happy that I had saved him the trouble. But what trust can he illicit from me? It is a ridiculous question and I think he knows it.

“You can trust me to do the right thing,” I saw, a touch imperiously and he laughs, understanding. He drops the key into my palm and then sighs as he slides his fingers around my wrist and stares intensely into my eyes.

“I’ll try to protect you but once we’re off this island I can’t foresee what may happen. But if you stay close, keep your head and do as I say we’ll make it out of the country before the sunsets,” he says assuredly but the prospect fills me with dread, not because we may be caught but because he might actually succeed.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I failed once and I plan to never let it happen again,” his eyes burn with an angry remorse and his fingers are bruising. I wonder suddenly what would have happened if Felix had lived. Would I have been set free, would it have been the last I saw of Peter? As I look into his burning gaze I realise that whatever the outcome I would not leave the island without him by my side, he would not allow it. If he truly loves me he does so with a possessiveness that I cannot even grasp and it is frightening. I smile weakly and twist my hand out of his hold and then after a pause I hug him. When I walk up the path to the boat house I feel his eyes on me but I do not care because he does not know that I have won.

*

Graham is awake and the sight of him trying to force the cuff over his hand almost makes my knees go weak with relief. He is alive. As he realises he has company he turns sharply and then places his other hand down on the bed to steady himself. He is swaying and blood covers his neck and the back of his shirt.

“It’s okay, it’s me,” I whisper and he seems to relax but only a little. He leans back when I reach for him and I freeze. He is sweating and his eyes swivel around the room, wide and half crazed. “How – how are you feeling?”

“Oh just perfect,” he says through his teeth, clearly in pain and he pants for breath. “I – I don’t do well in small places,” he explains and I feel a pang of kinship. He is now in the place I once was, though the bars around me are still there, I just can’t touch them. I offer him a wet cloth and antiseptic but he does not place it to his head. I know his pain must be great but sometimes applying the remedy can feel worse than the malady.

“I’m so sorry, I never wanted this to happen,” I begin and he eyes me with a tired curiosity. He looks at the open door and then back at me.

“What is happening?”

What can I say? What can I tell him? The truth is terrible, the truth implements me and he is a policeman but he gazes at me with kindness, this wounded, tormented stranger and I feel sobs bubbling up from my chest before I can stop them. I cry, trying to keep it contained but it all floods out of me at once. The fear, the shame and guilt I have felt over the last week all swirl together and rise uncontrollably.

“I – I’m sorry! I feel so, so…lost!” I tell him gutturally and he takes my hand. His knuckles are swollen and bloody.

“What happened to you?”

“I – I was coming home from my aunt M’s, I was waiting for a bus and then – then he appeared…” I tell him everything, I leave out nothing. I tell him about waking up exactly where he is now, about the photograph and the letter that had been sent to my father. I tell him about the escape and then the struggle with Ruf. The words pour out in a rush but here I falter. “I pushed him away, I admit it but I – I didn’t want to hurt him, I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted to save myself…but then I think maybe I did do it, I think he wants me to see it that way, he wants me to be proud of it but I’m not, I’m not.”

Admitting it all to him is the most cathartic experience I have ever had. Even his impassive face, one I think all policeman must have, does not deter from the wonderful feeling floating through me. I have told someone who is not Peter and it feels like I am talking to a  _real person_  and so what I say matters.

“It was self-defence,” he says quietly and another surge of relief waves inside my body and I nod vigorously. “You’ve been kidnapped and under the influence of a very dangerous young man,” his mouth down turns and he looks sick. “I have been here a few years, enough time to get to know the locals. They talk and they talk most about him. Right from infancy he was trouble, a strange and wild boy, and it only got worse. He would be reprimanded but it made no difference. He loved to defy any forms of authority and he had a frightening influence over others. When I saw you together I knew something wasn’t right. I should have listened to my instincts and just taken you back with me then and there.”

I smile weakly, sighing because I know if that had happened he would not have gotten off the island alive. I grip his hand tighter and gaze intensely.

“Thank you, thank you for listening and not judging me. He says he will leave you unharmed and soon you’ll be free…but I have to go with him, I have no choice.”

“Of course you do. I can see you’re good person in an awful situation. I don’t fault you for that but you do have a choice now. You’re leaving the island and so you’ll have the opportunity to escape. I told you about the police station? Find it, whatever happens just try to get there and you’ll be protected.”

“What if I end up in a cell instead?”

“You tell them what you’ve told me and I promise you that you’ll walk free…Even if you didn’t the way I see it you’d be trading one imprisonment for another Moira,” he says and pulls absentmindedly at the handcuff. His skin is raw and bleeding.

“My name is Wendy…and you’re right. I think I forgot who I was, I got confused but I know now,” I lean forward and uncurl my fingers to reveal the key I had slipped out of Peter’s pocket as we hugged. He blinks down and then smiles suddenly, lifting his head.

“Thank you.”

“Wait for about half an hour before leaving, he should be safely away by then.”

“Will I?”

I gasp and turn to find Peter leaning against the doorway. God how long has he been standing there? Has he heard everything? Had he known the moment I stole the key? These questions fire into my mind and dissolve as he comes forward and quick as a snake he plucks the key out of my fingers.

“Peter!”

“Seeing as you’re up for tricks and games today let’s play another,” he is grinning from ear to ear and his eyes are aflame with a mischievous cruel joy but there is a latent sea of rage under it, feeding it, and I am petrified.

“Don’t hurt him!” I cry and grab at his arm but he smirks down at me, his nostrils flaring.

“I promised I wouldn’t and unlike you I actually keep them. No I’m going to join in with your little plot here but make it fun,” he explains and then stares down at the battered and bloody policeman who is glowering at Peter.

“You won’t get away with this, with any of it. The police are on their way as we speak. You’re not invincible.”

“I hold your life in my hands, so right now in this room I am god,” he hisses but if he thinks Graham would be scared he is wrong, the policeman smirks and looks at me.

“I thought  _her_  decision was final? Isn’t that what you promised her?”

Peter stiffens next to me, his eyes flicking from side to side and I experience a strange revelation. I have power over him because I hold his heart and I know now that I can squeeze. But Peter processes pain differently from normal people and anything I inflict has to be just right. He places the key to the handcuff on the floor, just out of Graham’s reach and then takes my hand and drags me over to the door.

“There, if you can reach the key you’re free. Good luck,” he says with a friendly, sweet smile and then bangs the door shut but doesn’t lock it. We emerge into the open, his hand still around my wrist and he hurries past the cottage, my luggage forgotten. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. We crest the hill and I see the vast North Sea and the cold beach stretching in either direction before it melts away into mist. To the west I can just make out a narrow strip of land that rises from the sea. The isthmus. My hair whipping around my head he spins me around and cups my face, staring hard into my eyes.

“I heard what you said, I heard it all…and I’m sorry,” he says and I’m so stunned that I don’t have time to respond before he starts to run along the hill towards the only way off the island by foot.

 

*

 

The isthmus is narrow and the sea sloshes up the sides, spraying me with freezing saltwater. We run along it, the view ahead and behind obscure with fog. I feel like any moment the wind will blow us both into the water or we’ll take an unseen corner and fall but Peter seems to know exactly where to go. His hand is firm around mine and not once has he let go.  I can swim, Mr Jones had taught me and my brothers one summer but that had been in a calm lake, not the North sea.

“Peter what happens if we’re caught!?”

“We won’t be!” he says, looking over his shoulder at me with a giddy grin. God he is strange.

“Can you behave like a human for just this moment?!”

“No.”

He pulls me along faster and as the mainland suddenly materialises I freeze. Along the coast there are numerous dark shapes appearing out of the mist. Police. There must be hundreds of them.

“Oh god…” I breathe and I have this overwhelming need to shout for help but Peter turns and grabs me. His eyes are wild but all of the giddiness is gone. He looks devastated and it floors me.

“Go,” he says quietly, so quiet that I don’t hear but he barks it out again, giving me a rough shake. “I said go!”

“What?”

“I know you think I’m a monster, you think I don’t feel anything like a human should and you’re right…but I love you, I love you more than my own life. Go home Wendy.”

“But I thought we were leaving the county?” his words have punctured me, I feel laid low by his shocking admission. Selflessness seems as alien to him as humility. Is it a trick?

“Maybe one day…go back to your life but I promise I won’t give you up. I’ll be here for you when you realise the truth,” he cups my face again and his hands shake.

“What?”

“That I am the only person who truly loves you. I am real.”

I blink at him and I realise that is what he has wanted. He will not force my love, he wants me to give it to him in the same way he waited for me to cross the road to him all those days ago. It is no victory if he has to take my love but I think now he sees that it is no game to win either. The words are on my tongue, the fragile truth, but he kisses me hard and rough suddenly as the sea air is rent by shrill whistles. I kiss him back desperately, pulling him to me but he wrenches back and I watch him run back into the mist, back towards the island.

I feel like my heart has been ripped out, as if he has taken it with him. I stand there, not really seeing what is happening. I have a faint impression of dark running figures brushing past me and one almost knocks me back into the sea but then I’m pulled forward into a crushing hug, my cheek pressed against a solid chest. The smell of him is so familiar yet so strange that when I lean back and look up I find it hard to recognise him, as if it has been years.

“Mr Jones?”

“Yes, yes it’s me,” he says and his hands shake on my face. His eyes are swimming with tears and it just adds to my confusion. I sit and he comes down with me, never taking his eyes off mine. He looks so shaken, so relieved that again I wonder if I’m mistaken; maybe it’s not him at all. Mr Jones has always been a rather dazzling but elusive figure in my life, one who drifts in and out but he has always, always been distant with me. In fact I can’t remember him ever holding me or showing more affection then was proper. He is a friend of the family, that’s it.

“Why are you crying?”

“I – I wasn’t sure if you were alive! When you didn’t come home we were worried of course and we searched all over the moors for you but you were nowhere. And then I got the letter,” he says and with one arm still around my shoulders he takes out a crumpled envelop and it flutters in the wind. “I received it too late, Felix was already dead by the time I got it.”

“Did my father give it to you?”

“No, it was sent directly to me,” he answers lightly and I frown.

“What? But Peter said he was sending it to my father…”

For just an instant I see a bottomless well of pain in his eyes, a raw primal agony that I cannot begin to process before he squeezes his eyes shut, as if to hide it from me, but when he looks at me again his gaze is still raw, like a bruise.

“No…” I see it then, I see it all clearly. Peter had targeted me not because my father is a bank clerk or even that he is a friend of Jones; George Darling has nothing to do with it at all and never had because he is not really my father. I shake my head, staring at his guilty, shamed face and I push him away weakly.

“Wendy please,” he starts but I don’t want to listen.

“No, no it’s not true. It’s nonsense,” I stagger to my feet and walk alone towards the mainland as policemen run through the mist, shouting and bellowing out Peter’s name and I wish with all my heart that I had run with him.


	10. Chapter 10

On the way to the police station Jones sits beside me but I face the window, watching the moors flick past. I catch glimpses of purple heather and mossy rocks but the world outside is obscured by sea fog. Peter could disappear in this quite easily, I know he can evade capture if he is smart.

“Wendy…” he sighs, saying my name for the fourth time since entering the car. Always my name like a lament on his lips. I think I must be that to him, some sad little secret that he must always keep hush. No wonder he could hardly bare to be in my presence for so long. I cannot help dragging up old childhood memories of him, ones that had been perfectly ordinary and innocent but are now tinged with this awful truth. My mother. How long has she known? Do they all know? I cannot face it, I don’t want to. I stare out of the window as squat cottages begin to pop up until we enter a small village and all the while he tries to stammer an explanation but never gets anywhere.

“Where is this place?” It is the first thing I have said to him since leaving the isthmus.

“It’s called Starling,” he says and I can feel his tormented eyes on me. “At least tell me if you are well? Were – were you mistreated?”

“I’m okay,” that is a lie, I was mistreated but I don’t want to share that with him. “I just want to go home…” I say it but I do not feel the pull as I once did. I want to see my brothers again, I want hold them and speak to them but I can never tell them the truth. I am tainted and while I may not go to prison I know that I am changed beyond repair. I do not feel the same.

“Good, good…” he says as the car comes to a stop outside a sturdy stone police station. As the driver gets out I finally turn to Jones and look him steadily in the eye.

“I killed someone.”

His lips part and his eyes widen for a moment but then they swivel to every corner of the car and then back at me. “What?”

I tell him slowly and with no emotion what had happened at the cliff edge and he listens. First his expression looks stricken, worried for me but as I finish his eyes become calculating and he starts to nod. He sits back, staring into space thoughtfully and I frown at him.

“Well? What will you do?”

“Do? Nothing. I won’t let anything happen to you Wendy.”

“I broke the law and in case you’ve forgotten you’re a policeman. I have just confessed to a crime,” I hiss at him and for some reason hot prickling tears sting my eyes and my throat feels tight.

“Wendy…”

“I told Graham, I told PC Humbert,” I blurt out suddenly and he stiffens.

“What did he say?”

“That…well that it would be unlikely that I would go to prison. I was defending myself…”

He nods, still with that shrewd expression. “He’s right of course. I’ll handle him when he’s been stitched up.”

“Handle him?” I glare at him, Peter’s words echoing in my mind: hook, a bent policeman. Maybe I have been tainted from birth, a tiny little seed that just needed the right conditions to germinate.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with,” he says with a soft smile and leans down to stare into my eyes. I hate it but now I can see bits of myself in his face. “Once we’re inside explain what happened and we’ll get the full story. No one has to know but me.”

“But what if I want them to? What if I can’t live with it anymore?” I feel I’m on an edge, teetering. I feel so unsteady, so confused and I want Peter so much it’s a physical ache.

“You’re nineteen years old Wendy, all you have is life ahead of you,” he says a little harshly and then grows soft. He gazes at me with such unrestrained tenderness that I cannot look away until traitorous tears spills down my face. I brush them away and sit back, not looking at him.

“How long have you known?”

“…Since you were a baby.”

“So my mother has known for that long? What about my father?” I look at him and if calling George Darling my father pains him he does not show it. I suppose after two decades he must be used to it. He shakes his head, unable to say anymore and I just want to be away from him.

“Just know that I love you and you’re safe now. Pan can’t get to you,” he says reassuringly and I feel like laughing. He has no idea and he never will. I get out of the car as a policeman comes jogging up to us, panting for breath. Has he run all the way from the sea? He doubles over, trying to catch his breath as Jones frowns at him in impatience.

“What is it?”

“He jumped,” he gasps and doubles over again.

I freeze, staring at the winded man and battle the insane compulsion to shake him. “What did you say?”

“Pan, he jumped into the sea,” he says, straightening. “We thought he was running for the cottage but he never attempted to get back, he was going straight for the cliff edge. I saw him sir, he ran full pelt and jumped, didn’t even hesitate,” he says to Jones, shaking his head and I feel a boiling dread beginning to rise through me but I clamp down on it. Peter is alive, anything else is unthinkable. He is smart and cunning, he wouldn’t have jumped for no reason and my suspicion is backed up by Jones.

“Probably had one of his boys patrolling the island in a boat. I know him, he always has back up…” he says grimly and then looks at me and his eyes shift into something oddly tender. “Better for you if he had drowned.”

I give him a heavy lidded stare before turning into the station. “Better for you more likely,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear and he does not follow me in, his face pale and disturbed.

* * *

 

I give my account of what happened and keep nothing back. Well almost. I do not share what passed between myself and Peter, I can’t share that with anyone, least of all Jones. So I tell him and a few hours later I am free. Funny, that is the way it felt, as if any second someone would pull back a screen and reality would descend. I should be punished for what I did, even if it was an accident, but not with Jones there. I could have pushed Ruf with every intention of killing him, I could tell Jones that I wanted him to die and that my conscious is clear but that would mean nothing to him. He thinks he cares for me, that he is protecting me but really he wants to save his own neck.

PC Graham Hubert is now in hospital and from what they have told me he is doing well. I am relieved. He is a good man and he did not deserve what happened to him. He did not deserve to come into contact with Peter…My mind shifts to him constantly, my feelings oscillating between an aching longing and a sharp revulsion. I want him to be safe, I want to see him, hold him again but there is this constant rivit of denial. He could have killed Graham, he likely would have if I had not stopped him; I know that violence lies in his heart and I hate it so why do I feel this yearning for him?

I should go home and forget all of this, forget him, but I cannot. He said that he would be waiting for me when I learned the truth and I have but will he be waiting for nothing? If I decided to live a life away from him would he allow that? Do I want him to? Oh my thoughts race and race and come back to the same thing. I just want to be a void and think of nothing. I want to sleep and wake up as I was before.

My aunt is coming with my brothers, they are coming to take me back to London but I cannot go yet. The island calls to me, as if it is this force, this pull to the west that makes me turn to it like sunflowers to the sun. I leave the station and walk towards the sea. I’m shadowed by a policeman. Do they think I will run? Jump? Something hestronic probably but as the dark bulk of the island appears through the mist I realise how foolish I am being.

They think I will draw him out.

I see my life stretched out before me now, one that is constantly supervised by shadowy figures. They want Peter and now they have a way to capture him: me. If he stays away he will be safe and free but if he comes to me or if I go to him they will surely take him. Are my steps to be quietly hounded for the rest of my life just on the chance that he will appear? I have felt so confused, so overwhelmed but now I am imbued with one feeling, one thought: indignation and the desire to be alone.

Since getting off the bus my life has been at the mercy of others and I am sick of it. I thought once I got off the island I would be free. Not free of my crime or guilt but free to chose what to do and how to live my life but I see that it’s impossible. I have been brought up with liberty and freedom to make my own choices, something that most young women of my age and class have not had and the restriction of it all, the men who stand in the paths that I want to go down, fills me with such anger that I can hardly breathe.

I won’t stand for this, not anymore. I have had enough. I don’t care about Jones or anyone else, they can rot. I just want to exist in a place where my life is not bounded in and observed. So I won’t. I turn to the policeman and ask him if my luggage has been retrieved from the cottage. He hesitates but gives the affirmative and we walk back to the police station. I am leaving, I am getting on the first train and I do not care where it will take me. If Peter has survived, the thought that he may not fills me with an icy dread, he will laylow as he has no doubt reached the same realisation I have. As the policeman enters the station to look for my luggage I walk away quickly, following signs to the town’s train station.

_My brothers…?_

 

They’re coming for me, they’ll be here in a few hours but only to find me gone. It stabs me, I am being incredibly cruel, incredibly selfish but I know what will happen once they arrive. I will never be out of their sight, I will be chaperoned from one place to another like some fragile child and I cannot bear it. I love them and I know that they love me but the thought of spending any time whatsoever cooped up in a house and under supervision repulses me. At home with mother…

I can’t do it, I can’t face her. I don’t know what to say to her, all I can feel is this terrible choking need to cry everytime I think about it. She has lied to me my whole life, I think my entire family has, maybe even my father too. Oh these thoughts are maddening. I don’t know if any of these doubts have any weight to them but they affect me as if they do. I sit on a bench and wait for a train and try to keep my mind blank. I sit back with a sigh, looking over the train tracks to the misty fields beyond. A bird is singing and I smile weakly.

“Good morning…” I say and begin whistling. I don’t know why but I start to cry, my stomach cramping with the most intense need I have ever felt. I want him to whistle back, I want him to crow in triumph and appear out of the mist. I want us to get on the train that approaches together and head off to wherever it goes. But as the smoke of the train billows over the tree tops and snakes into sight he does not appear.

“All aboard!” a man shouts and blows a shrill whistle as the train stop before me. I breathe quickly, body stiff with anticipation and I stare along the platform, looking into every face that passes me but I do not see him. I am here on this platform to get away, to be free of any restrictions and though my heart yearns for him Peter is the biggest restriction of all...but it makes no difference.

“Come on, come on...where are you?” I whisper, heart lurching as the train starts to move and the carriage doors slam shut. He is not here, of course he is not here. Even through everything I’m still a sentimental fool with a bleeding heart. I cannot be like that, not anymore. I inhale and quickly get onto the train, stepping up into an empty compartment.

I sit as I am whisked away and while I try to harden my heart, to pacify my longing and guilt, one thought rings my mind, accompanied by a traitorous flash of hope.

Maybe the next station...maybe the next station...maybe the next...maybe...

 

* * *

 

But I have not seen Peter Pan since that day and as the years progress the island is no more substantial to me than a fever dream. That is a lie of course, I spend years waking from nightmares, struggling with panic attacks and dark thoughts but one thing, one golden bright thing keeps me together and reminds me every day why getting on that train was the best thing I have ever done.

Because I did not get on alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go...


	11. Chapter 11

If I were to write his name no pen or ink would do him justice, only a golden splash would do and even that falls short. He has been in my life seven whole years and since he arrived every day has been better than the last. You know sometimes you meet someone and you feel this sense of relief, of completion, of finally you are here! I feel I have been waiting for him and while I had to go through so much darkness and pain he is what I have brought with me through the other side. I love him so much and nothing else quite compares.

He thinks I am quite silly and he is quite right of course but I think most mothers are.

  


* * *

 

“Don’t race ahead too far Daniel!” I warn and he yells that he won’t. He runs faster. All little boys are the same, I should tell him to run until he flies and see what happens. He’d probably accomplish it. My son is small for seven, with wavy blonde hair and inquisitive green eyes. He looks like him but with none of the puckishness. Well, maybe a dusting of it…

The island is just as I remember it. I have seen it from afar before, coming back in the car with Dan but till now I have never come this far and never with my son. I won’t step foot on it but my curiosity has got the best of me. I remember the island and these moors as being something half fey, belonging to some other world, but today the summer sunshine burns away any lingering fog and the blue skies arc overhead. It is real, it always has been but as I come to stand at the mouth of the isthmus I feel the same strange pull I felt all those years ago.

“Does anyone live there?”

“No, I don’t think so…”

“Can we explore?” Dan asks and he shuffles from one foot to the other and then climbs onto the fence that blocks access to the isthmus.

“That would be trespassing…”

“But you said no one lives there!” he grumbles and jumps down from the fence. He is not someone who can stay still for more than five seconds. We have counted.

“But someone owns the land,” I assume so anyway… “Come on, I promised granny that we would be back before teatime.”

A lot has happened since I got on the train in 1947. My elopment did not last long and while I raged and rebelled at being home it did not last long. I had been so young and through so much but my pregnancy changed me fundamentally. I had to stop being so preoccupied with my own wants and needs and put my son first. I grew up…but not completely.

I looked for Peter everywhere. I saw his face on those of strangers and the suspicion that he was there watching filled me with a confusing mix of longing and fear. Now I have no such confusion, too much time has passed. I love my son with everything I have and I will not put him in harms way. I think that is why Peter has not approached us, he must know about Daniel by now but not wishing to drag us into his life he has stayed away. At least that is what I want to believe.

I only knew Peter for a few days, enough time to fall in love but not easily and while I am not the same girl he first saw at the bus stop I imagine that he is not the young man I remember. Maybe it is foolish and fanciful but I like to imagine that he has found someway to live in this world, a temperance where he stands on both sides because I can’t bear the thought that he sunk lower into the dark. For my son’s sake I wish that and that is the silly thing. Daniel has no idea who his father is.

Some days I wish for nothing to change that but on others…well, like I said I am not as grown up and sensible as I appear. I think that is a good thing, it keep me vigorated. That is what has helped me to write, what has spurred my career. I had been so filled up to the brim with words that needed an outlet and so I had turned pen to paper. Getting everything down had been so cathartic and doing so had opened up a floodgate in me. I thought that my life would be over, that I could only live it with Peter or in some miserable solitude but it is not so. I am happy and yet…well, everyone gets lonely even if they have company. I’m not untouched by what has happened, I am damaged but I am not broken.

I take his hand and lead him away from the isthmus. We do not return.

 

* * *

 

“Mummy? Look!” Daniel points behind us and I see the train approaching.  He is utterly obsessed with the things and bounces up and down in excitement as the old steamer comes to a stop, billowing out smoke and passengers.

“Come on Dan, up you get. Mind the gap!” I get into a carriage as a leather coated teddyboy gets off and we take a seat. Dan presses his face to the glass, imitating the noise of the train as it begins to move and I smile and sit back. I turn to the business man beside me, who is reading a broadsheet, and he turns to smile. I stop breathing.

“…Peter?”

It is him, it is. He is older and while he had been handsome before that fey impishness has grown into something manly and even more wild. He is magnetic. I feel like I have been struck with lightning, electric runs through my veins, not blood. He smiles at me with such adoration I feel like my mind is skipping, like a record on a table. In the back of my mind I always knew this would happen, it is inevitable but as the years lengthened I thought less and less about it. Only today did it play on my mind but that is a because I was so close to the island.

“Hello Wendy bird,” he whispers. We are hidden behind the newspaper, Daniel cannot see us. I breathe heavily, shaking my head in disbelief.

“How? How did you know we’d be in this compartment?”

“Oh I don’t want to reveal all my secrets,” he teases and his lips quirk into a smirk I have been dreaming about for seven years. His mouth parts and his eyes flick to my lips and up again. I lean towards him, all rational thought gone and almost touch his lips with mine. I am just a heartbeat and sizzling veins.

“Since when do you like stocks and shares?” Daniel’s voice spears into the moment and I jerk away from Peter as if he is on fire. He lowers the paper, looking utterly composed, but his voice hitches as he finally talks to his son.

“Oh nothing as tedious as that,” Peter says and flings the paper away, making Dan laugh. The flutter of falling paper around us seems to snap me out of the spell I have been in. I smile at Daniel, feeling flushed and probably looking it too as he stares Peter with an open curiosity.

_Oh god._

“You look familiar,” Dan says, and lifts an eyebrow and I see that Peter is mirroring him exactly. It is the strangest thing I have ever seen. He is Peter’s miniature. My heart pounds and I begin to sweat. Daniel is very sharp, a little Sherlock Holmes when he wants to be. I can’t risk him putting it together.

“Do I?” Peter says and smiles. There is nothing knowing about it, nothing teasing or playful. it is genuinely full of wonder that increases by the second. He drinks in the appearance of his son and then I see what these seven years must have been like for Peter. Standing at the distance, catching glimpses of us but never anything that lasts. He has never held his son, never been to a birthday party or sports day. He has been utterly excluded and I know it has been for the best yet it still hurts.

“Why don't you go to the front of the train and ask the driver if you can watch him drive?”

Dan needs no other prompting. He jumps up from his seat and dashes for the door and slides it open. He runs out of sight, causing a ruckus until the carriage door slides closed again with a soft thump. I turn to Peter and he drags his eyes away from where Dan has been.

“I wasn’t sure if I would ever see you again,” I whisper, struggling to get the words out of my tight throat. He tilts his head, nodding.

“I tried to stay away, to keep you both safe but I couldn’t anymore,” he sighs and leans closer to me, his eyes intense.

“But the police?! If you being here brings even a hint of danger into his life I swear I will -”

“No! I wouldn’t be here if that was the case. The police are no longer looking for me, Jones has made sure of that. I’ve cut all ties to that life, there is nothing that connects me to that now, I swear it,” he says passionately and then smirks weakly. “My name isn’t even Peter Pan anymore…”

“I can’t risk it,” I whisper even as he leans in with the most wretched longing on his face.

“Please? I would never put you or him in danger, I’d die first…but I can’t do this anymore, I can’t go day by day without you. You’re mine, you’re mine,” he whispers through his teeth, as if he is in pain and like a dam bursting he surges forward and presses his mouth to mine. I freeze for a second before I pull him into my arms, straining against him. He parts my lips with his tongue, kissing me roughly and I groan into his mouth. It is not tentative, it is not gentle but filled with long, long years worth of pent up longing and need. Almost straddling him, my chinos making it easy, he pulls the scarf away from my neck and kisses my throat as my hands delve into his hair. I can see myself in one reckless second letting him take me but it is madness. Panting and throbbing like a raw nerve I push away from him, snapping back to reality.

“No, this can’t happen,” I gasp, trying to get away but he gets to his feet and pulls me back to him. He wraps his arms around my body and holds tight, his face buried against the curve of my neck. We stand there like that for god knows how long, the rocking of the train under our feet luling until he pulls back and cups my face.

“I’m not forcing you to do anything but I swear being around me is safe. I’ve made sure of it.”

“Even if that is true you can expect to be part of our life? I will not risk Daniel for you, I never will,” I mean it. I might feel this frenzied love for Peter but it is nothing to what I feel for Daniel.

“I’m not asking you to risk anything, I’m just asking you to take a chance. It’s your choice,” he says and pulls a card out of his pocket. It is an address, one in London.

“Peter…”

“Just think about it,” he says and quickly kisses my forehead and the door suddenly slides open. We look down at Daniel as he comes in wearing an oversized hat.

“The driver gave me his hat! He says I am in charge!” he explains excitedly and runs to the window to peer out. I detangle myself from Peter and smile at Dan. If he noticed the hug he does not say, too preoccupied with his new job position. I hug him and sit on the seat opposite Peter and before long Dan curls up asleep beside me. It has been a long day for him.

“Tell me about him,” he asks quietly. He cannot keep his eyes off us both. I tilt my head sadly. My mind is made up, I can’t have him in our life, I just can’t. I pray that I have a choice in this, I pray that he doesn’t just take what he wants for himself. I pray that he has changed.

“Peter I’m not -”

“Just for now, just tell me for now. We have two hours until the train reaches London, two hours to think on it.”

“Two hours?” I consider softly, humouring him and he nods.

“Whatever you decide when we get off the train I’ll respect but for now…anything could happen,” he says with that old playfulness and I smile back at him despite myself.

“Until the station…”

_~fin~_


	12. Isthmus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven years after the events of Otherworld Peter and Wendy meet again. Smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a oneshot.

London during summer is an odd time, it’s at once lazy but poised at the edge of some unspoken commotion, a combustion just waiting for the right measures to ignite. Or maybe that’s how I feel. My shadow stretches out long on his hallway floor, stretching towards the front door. Like it’s trying to escape. The sun is sinking and I don’t have long.

He lives near to Kensington Garden, down a little cobbled side street and it’s clearly an affluent area, far more than my humble Islington abode. It’s large house, far too big for one person. It’s a family home, just without the family. I knew he had money but now I wonder by what means. I’m not even sure what business, if any, he is in. He said he worked in logistics but what sort of nonsense answer is that? God what am I doing here?

The piece of paper he had written his address on is balled up and wrinkled in my hand. I had thrown it in the bin and retrieved it more time than I care to admit. He shifts opposite me, his shadow swallowing mine, and I look up. He hasn’t said a word since inviting me in and I can’t bear to look at him. I’m not scared, fear would be better, fear would make me run. If I look at him for too long I’m stuck.

“You’ve made your choice?” he asks quietly, breaking the hush and his voice is calm but forced. He’s actually nervous and I know then that this is my choice. No one fears an outcome they can control or sway. I nod, catching his eyes and there, I’m stuck. On the train we had kissed and then spent two tension filled hours trying not to touch each other. I had dreamed of him, imagined him near me for so many years but I thought I could rise above it, I thought I had outgrown him. Nonsense.

“I only have a short time,” I say, eyeing the sinking sun over his shoulder. Funny but I don’t want to be here when the night comes. He’s older, that impish boyishness muted, but there’s still that air of otherworldliness. Twilight is his time. He leans off the windowsill and comes to me slowly, like I’m some sensitive creature that will take flight, like a bird. I hope he knows me better than that.

“I’ve imagined you here so many times that I can’t quite believe it. It’s like a dream,” he stops inches from me but doesn’t touch. He’s so much taller now, so much older but his eyes are the same. They dance at the sight of me. If he touches me I know what will happen and that girl who wanted to run away with him, that wanted to live on a beach and sleep with him covered in nets welcomes it, screams for it. People think aging is a stage that you move on from but it’s not true. We are all simultaneously experiencing the same age; I am still a child, I am still a teenager, I am a woman and it’s all now. You can’t grow out of something that you are.

His breath plays over my mouth as I begin to lean up and the tension is like a rope snapping apart, freeing but scary. I’m in freefall. He cups my face as I press my mouth to his gently, taking the time to savour how he feels and tastes before I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, my tongue touching his. He leans down and picks me up, his hands gliding up the back of my nylon covered legs. The sensation makes me shiver and I gasp into his mouth as he hooks his fingers into my garters and snaps them.

I pull back, lips throbbing and lipstick smeared and gaze into his eyes before nodding. He smiles, a half smirk, and I don’t think he can convey anything but victory when he smiles like that. He buries his face against my neck as I rub myself against him, writhing like a cat and I want him so much I feel I’ll explode at any minute. Sweat trickles down my chest as he settles me on top of a table and works at his belt.

“Is – is anyone else here?” I hadn’t been considered the possibility. He pauses, pulling back from kissing my neck and shakes his head.

“It’s just me here. There’s no one else, there’s never anyone else,” he says sincerely and I know he means it. He’s been waiting for me. I feel a bubbling possessiveness and I’m oddly pleased. He captures my mouth again, his movements now very hurried as he pushes up my dress and spreads my legs. I lie back against the table top as he grabs my hips and I feel him pressing hard against my inner thigh before he pushes into me. He thrusts slowly, his eyes fixed on mine until he’s buried deep. I haven’t had sex in so long and I realise then that we had only done this once but the feel of him in me is so familiar, so welcome that I know something he said once is right. We are meant for each other but that doesn’t mean fate is kind. It’s cruel and this is the furthest thing from a fairy-tale.

Peter groans, his forehead pressed to mine and he smiles happily.  “I love you.”

“I know,” is all I can say. I won’t lie because I don’t know what I feel, even now. He smiles again, accepting it and we kiss again as he begins to pound into me. He has been holding back, we both have and I arch into him, claw at his back as he unbuttons my blouse and pulls my bra down. He takes toothless bites at my breasts, sucking and licking until I moan his name and he grins at me wickedly. My fingers rake through his hair before I fist it, tugging and he hisses, grabbing my hands and pushing them down. He rises and pulls my body nearer to the edge of the table, spreading my legs further and fucks me until the table shakes and creaks, until my screams and hoarse shouts fill the room. It feels so good but still so wrong that I can’t hold back. I scream and scream as I climax and he pushes his hand over my mouth, panting roughly into my hair as he hammers into me before stiffening, every muscle taut as he comes deep inside me.

His head rests against my chest and I stroke his hair, my legs wrapped around him. We say nothing, just breathe and I watch the sun sinking through the window. As the last of the light dims I stir against him and lifts his head and gazes at me. He knows this does not and never will affect my decision but then this never had been, not really.

“I know it’s his birthday next week,” he whispers, twining my hair around his finger.

“Yes…We’re going to the park for a picnic. I – I don’t want you there but he does,” I confess finally and he freezes, staring down at me. As he realises what I’ve said his face transforms. I have never seen him look so oddly innocent, so genuinely touched.

“He knows who I am?”

“Dan knew as soon as he saw you. The only reason I’m here is because he found the card with your address on it and was on his way here himself. Once he has his mind set on something he’s very hard to sway.”

Peter laughs in delight. “He’s definitely my son.”

“In a way…he wants to meet you but not at the party. Come afterwards, at five. The swings at Kensington Garden.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises and kisses my cheek and rises. I sit up and catch hold of his hand.

“I told him that we’re not together and likely won’t be. This won’t happen again,” I move my hand between us, gazing at him seriously. He nods but his mouth curls into a knowing smile. He clearly thinks otherwise. He’s still a smug bastard.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers as I finish getting dressed before he cocks his head to the side, pouting ever so slightly. “A kiss before you leave?”

“Feeling used?”

“Wendy…this is yours,” he taps against his chest, over his heart. “Always will be whether you want it or not,” he takes my hand and pulls my gently to me feet. I tilt my head, smiling a little.

“It’s not very wise to give your heart to some who could crush it,” I smirk but I mean it. I know that he can feel hurt and he deserves it but my words don’t have the conviction I want. This is all too new, to fast but an aching, hidden place I have tried to ignore for seven years wants him but never at the expense of my son. His safety is everything and I think it’s something we can both agree on. If it wasn’t I would never have come.

“Well that’s the risk isn’t it?” he mummers, angling for another kiss and now that we have begun I feel I can kiss him through the whole night right into next morning. Again that feeling that I’ve stepped into a dream hits me just as acutely as it did on that island in Yorkshire. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him quickly on the mouth before hugging him, my mouth by his ear.

“If you put him in any danger whatever I will  _bury_  you. You know I can,” I pull back and he stares into my eyes. I have all the ammunition that the police need and the only reason he is walking around free is because I say so. Jones follows my word to the letter, call it paternal guilt. Peter’s green eyes glow in the sunlight, like some jungle cat. There is no anger, no scorn or ridicule. He’s overwhelmingly proud. Of course he is.

“I’d expect nothing less but I meant what I said. I’d die before I put you or Daniel in danger. I’ve missed you so much Wendy,” he sighs and kisses my forehead before stepping back. He escorts me to the front door and stands there as I walk down the garden path to the old gate.

“Next Friday, five o’clock at the park. Don’t be late.”

“I’ll save you a swing,” he promises and I laugh.

“You have to grow up some day Peter.”

“Not if I can help it. Till we meet again,” he lifts a hand in farewell and I walk away from his house as twilight settles around me and I feel peculiar and unbalanced, as if I’m walking along the isthmus again, over the sea back to the real world.


End file.
